Here Be Dragons
by Dyanne Hellen Sotobod
Summary: Three years following the events of the movie, Berk engages in a war with a very real, very human enemy. As the war progresses, Hiccup finds himself caught in his own battles as his life is turned upside-down his faith in himself is challenged. It's new and frightening territory, the sort of territory Anglo-Saxons would mark on their maps with the words "Here Be Dragons."
1. Chapter 1

**And we're off on a whirlwind adventure. I'm actually quite excited to get started on this, because it's been rolling around in my head for a few days. Just know before you start, if you want a story filled with happiness and sunshine and rainbows, you're reading the wrong thing. It's not going to be a tragedy–though some parts will be tragic–but it will not be a rousing comedy either. Bad things will happen, shit will go down, people will die, and Hiccup will grow up.**

**If you haven't already, check out the prequel, "For Everything Else" (which is currently incomplete, as I will be working on these simultaneously) and even go ahead and look at "This Time, For Sure."**

**I do not own How to Train Your Dragon, books or movie franchise.**

**Chapter 1: Normanz**

"...just you and me. Maybe a few–"

"Sh!" Astrid pressed herself against the wooden slats of the wall and glared at Snotlout. "Not now!"

"Gods, Tuffnut!" Ruffnut hissed. "Just once could you–"

"Guys!" Astrid reminded them with a harsh whisper. "Shut up!" She peered around the corner and and spotted Fishlegs scurrying over. He bumped into a barrel of spears near a wall. The weapons rattles and the pointy heads clanged. Astrid groaned internally and ground her teeth. They were going to get caught.

The rest of the plan had to go perfectly, or else every step would have been for nothing.

Fishlegs ran up to her and bent over wheezing. "Gone...just left...out back...morning duties..."

She grabbed his shoulder. "Where is _he_?"

The boy pointed behind him. "Sleeping. I...I think...Didn't go inside..."

"You _think_?" She yanked him around and slammed him against the wall. He flailed and slapped Snotlout in the face.

"Ow!" Snotlout said loudly.

"Sorry!" Fishlegs whimpered.

"Quiet!" Astrid hissed. She looked at them and caught a glimpse of the lightening horizon. Time was running out. They had to get their plan rolling before sunset... "Let's go!" She ducked around the corner and ran, low to the ground across the dirt. When she reached a wall close to their target, she pressed her back against it and waited for the four other teens to catch up.

"So, if it were me," Snotlout began quietly, "would you–"

"I'd never do this for you," Astrid replied shortly.

The boy gaped at her. "But...for Hiccup–"

"You're not Hiccup."

Fishlegs reached the wall last and leaned against it. He was tired from all the running and sneaking around, and she felt bad about giving him the task of first scoping out the target location, but someone had to, and someone had to keep Snotlout and the twins from giving their position away completely.

She looked at the kids and pointed to the building. "Alright, we're going in. Open the door, sneak up the steps as quietly as you can. He cannot wake up. He cannot see us. If he does, we're done for." She turned to face the structure. "I'll take care of Toothless." She took a deep breath.

"Wait!" Tuffnut leaned over. "What do we do once we get there?"

She rolled her eyes. "Wait for my order and then pounce," she said as if it were obvious. Which it was. "Move out."

The distance to the door seemed to grow with every step, but when they finally reached it, she took a deep breath and pushed. The hinges creaked and she winced and froze; hearing no movement within, she waved at the other kids, and they all crept inside, toward the wooden stairs to the left, and up the steps. Their way at the top was blocked by a trap door.

"Ok," Astrid murmured. "Ok." She pushed just enough to lift the door, then grabbed the edge and used her grip to push with more control. She lifted herself through the hole and stood up slowly, keeping her grip on the wood and slowly lowering it to the ground so the others could get up.

Tuffnut shoved through first, followed by Ruffnut. Snotlout jumped up and made some sort of wild hand motion that Astrid assumed was meant to be some sort of code. She shrugged and shook her head at him. How on earth such an idiot could possibly be related to Hiccup she would never understand. Fishlegs poked his head into the room and Snotlout gestured bigger.

Astrid shook her head again and started to mouth, "I don't know," but the whole affair distracted her and she lost her grip on the trap door. It slammed against the wooden floor and everyone froze, turning their heads toward a lump outlined in the moon glow of early morning. The lump moaned and shifted and then was completely still.

Astrid sighed in relief and looked away, only to meet two bright, green eyes. She made her way over, lightly stepping until she hit a board that creaked high. She quickly drew her foot back and glanced over at the lump.

The lump had not moved or made a sound.

She reached a bit farther with her right foot and slowly lowered her toes to the floor. When the board did not creak, she transferred all her weight and balanced on her right leg.

The pupils in the bright green eyes narrowed into slits, and she heard a low growl.

Astrid held up her hands. "No, no, no!" she whispered. "Toothless! It's me! Astrid! It's ok, Toothless."

The pupils widened and moved toward her.

"Stay there!"

The eyes quickly pulled back and the green eyes went catawampus as the great beast cocked his head to the side.

"We need to be quiet," Astrid said quietly as she tread lightly. "He can't wake up, or we'll be in trouble."

The dragon purred slightly.

"I'm just going to come to you...Ruffnut!" Astrid hissed, suddenly remembering something. "Did you get the–"

"Bag?" the other girl finished. "Got it. We have everything we need."

Astrid nodded and turned back to the dragon, taking a few more careful steps. She extended her hand and brushed her fingers over smooth scales. Not hot or cold, just smooth and hard. "It's ok," she repeated. She reached behind the dragon. "We just need a little light..." She felt wood against her palm and ran her hand along the grainy surface, searching for a crack. When she found it, she traced it with her fingers until she found the latch, lifted it, and pulled.

The window shutters opened with slight jump, and the first cracks of dawn light fell across the wooden floor and onto the sleeping lump. As she opened the window wider, she bit her lip and gazed at the pile of blankets.

Caution was key, she reminded herself. One false step could compromise the whole mission. She would not allow that. The mission was necessary. For Hiccup.

She looked at the other kids, and they nodded. Everything was ready. There was only one final step: they had to take care of the sleeper. Then, the plan would be fully underway, and nothing could stop their success.

Slowly as quietly, she tip-toed over to the lump of blankets on the bed. She took a deep breath. "It's time," she murmured.

The others took their positions around the bed, determination flashing in their eyes.

She smiled slightly. "No turning back."

Fishlegs glanced at the window and the sky that continued to grow brighter by the second. "We need to do it now," he warned in his nervous way. "The light could wake him up before we have a chance to do it..."

Astrid looked around and nodded. "One," she mouthed.

Snotlout rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Tuffnut cracked his knuckles.

"Two..."

Ruffnut flexed her fingers while Fishlegs bobbed nervously.

Astrid looked down at the sleeper. It was now or never. For Hiccup.

"Three!" she hissed before the kids screamed in unison, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"WAH!" the lump shouted as it flailed and fell off the bed. "Gah...ow..." A head of dark auburn hair popped up and a hand reached up to rub at closed eyes. "What the..." Green, confused eyes flew open and glanced around. "You're in my house..."

"Surprise!" Fishlegs shouted unnecessarily.

"No kidding..." Hiccup replied in his usual nasal mumble, though his words were more slurred in his drowsiness. "Gods...why would you..." He glared across the room. "Toothless! Why didn't you do anything..."

"Oh, he tried," Astrid assured him with a grin. "But he knows my voice. He likes me, and he would never give us away." The thought always made her happy. Toothless liked her. Toothless _approved_ of her. And that approval carried as much weight as the approval of Hiccup's own father, the Chief, Stoick the Vast.

"Useless reptile," Hiccup muttered as he disentangled himself from the blankets. He accomplished the task with considerable difficulty and used the bedpost to haul himself to a one-legged standing position. "What time is it..." He caught sight of the open window. "Gods...Is the sun even up?"

"Will be soon," Ruffnut replied with a smirk.

Hiccup shook his head and slowly sat on the bed. "You're all crazy...I mean, I consider myself an early riser, but this is just..."

Was he always so...expressive in the mornings? Astrid made a mental note and walked over to him. "Look alive!" she said cheerfully. "You're a man today! Seventeen!"

Hiccup gave her that slightly agitated look of his. "I was a man last year," he reminded her. "I distinctly recall a huge feast and a bunch of unnecessary pomp and circumstance and a really annoying ceremony that Snotlout laughed throughout."

"Yeah, but this is your first one as a man _already_," Snotlout pointed out. "Besides, it was Astrid's idea."

"I figured," Hiccup grumbled. "Someone always suffers when she gets ideas."

Astrid glared at him.

Ruffnut shoved a bag in Hiccup's face. "We brought mead! Three bottles!"

"We could just go to the mead hall and–"

"Yeah," Tuffnut agreed. "But this is more fun."

Hiccup rolled his eyes. "Oh. I'm glad my discomfort is fun to you." A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, and Astrid knew he was not mad. A little grumpy to have been woken up so early, but still his usual witty, nice self.

Astrid took the bag from Ruffnut and opened it. "Besides, the mead hall has been taken over to prepare for the Thing this afternoon."

"It's not a Thing," Hiccup said. "It's more of a...Chiefs' Counsel."

Astrid handed him a bottle and sat down next to him. "Whatever. You have to be there."

Hiccup untied the tiny piece of leather and removed the oiled cloth covering the moth of the bottle.

"Which is why we're kidnapping you now," Tuffnut added.

"What?" The skinny boy almost dropped the bottle. "Kidnapping?"

"Not kidnapping exactly," Fishlegs explained as he accepted a bottle from Astrid. "That makes it sound mean."

"We're distracting you," Astrid said. "Taking you for a spin before the politics takes you away."

Hiccup puffed his cheeks then blew heavily and reached underneath the bed. After a moment of fumbling, he pulled out his prosthetic by the metal toe. "Do you think we could maybe run into some trouble and miss the whole ordeal?"

"Hiccup, you have to go," Astrid said. "You need to learn all this stuff. You'll be the chief one day."

Hiccup scrunched up his nose. "Yeah, but that's a long time from now." He passed the opened bottle to Tuffnut and set to work rolling up his leggings so he could fit the prosthetic over his stump.

She had once asked him if the wood chafed, and he had told her that he had lined it with leather and a thick wool padding.

She turned away when she saw a flash of skin. It did not disgust her, or make her cringe, but the scars scared her, a reminder of a time when she had thought she had lost him before ever even having him. Whenever she thought about it her chest would clench painfully, and she was certain that the idea of losing him after really knowing him was far worse. She cleared her throat and took a swig from the bottle in her hand. She cringed immediately. "Ruffnut! You got the sweet stuff!"

"Oh, I'll take it," Hiccup said as he yanked on a leather strap that wound around his shin and kept his foot intact. He tied off his leggings near the top of the wooden part and reached for the bottle.

As she passed off the bottle, Tuffnut handed her the one in his hands. "This one's dry."

Astrid smiled and drank. She had once mentioned how weird it was that he preferred sweet and light while she preferred her drink stronger. He had simply told her that it worked well that way. They balanced each other.

She handed off the bottle to Snotlout.

After passing the bottles around and draining the contents and eating some honey cakes pilfered from Fishlegs' house, Hiccup stretched his arms toward the ceiling and stood up. "Where are we going?"

"Away," Tuffnut supplied helpfully.

"We're just going to take our dragons flying," Fishlegs said. "Before the ships arrive and you have to go down to meet all the arriving chiefs and important people."

"It'd be better if we could avoid all of that," Hiccup said.

Astrid jumped up. "Then let's move!" She headed for the trap in the floor and skipped down the stairs, knowing everyone would be behind her.

As soon as they stepped into the crisp morning, Hiccup punched her in the arm.

"Hey!" She rubbed the spot. It actually did hurt. Time at the forge and days of riding had given him enough muscle to make a statement, though he still had difficulty ripping trees out of the ground and splitting logs with his bare hands. Not that those things bothered her. Those things made him Hiccup. "What was that for?" she asked.

"That's for waking me up so early."

She looked up at him and marveled not for the first time that year that she had to raise her eyes to see his face. Back when he had defeated the Red Death, she had been shorter than she had been. Then he had hit a crazy growth spurt after he had turned fifteen and in no time at all he was standing a few inches above her. Along those lines, manhood had been particularly kind to him. His voice had deepened slightly, though he still spoke in that nasal mumble that made her feel like laughing. He had finally grown into his slightly too-long face, his jaw had broadened, and every feature had sharpened and matured. Except his nose, which had retained its boyish turn-up at the end. She liked that.

As she met his eyes, her heart started beating faster. Mischief and confidence of a particular Hiccup brand played in the depths of green, and his freckled face glowed with excitement. She found herself leaning forward in anticipation.

He did not disappoint.

He brought a hand to the side of her face and tipped her head back before leaning down slightly and pressing his lips against hers.

Ooh...Sheliked kissing him.

As he pulled back, he murmured, "That's for everything else."

She smiled and grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back down.

Hiccup made some sort of awkward gulping noise and lost his balance for a bit before he placed his hands on her waist.

Yes, she _really _liked kissing him. She enjoyed everything about the activity: the soft skin of his lips, the fluttering in her chest, the warm feeling in her stomach, and–more recently–the coarse stubble underneath her fingertips. She ran her fingers along his jawline as he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Hiccup was definitely one of her favourite pastimes.

"Alright, you two," Ruffnut said. "That's enough."

"Can you separate so we can go?" Snotlout called out harshly.

Hiccup pulled back again and smiled that adorable crooked grin that made her stomach feel tingly and her thoughts go fuzzy.

"I totally called it," Tuffnut declared. "When they had that scuffle in the ring..." He cackled. "Love on the battlefield."

Snotlout turned away. "Let's just go flying..."

Astrid had to look away before she succumbed to the urge to kiss Hiccup again. Something large and scaly bumped into her hand, and she glanced down and smiled as Toothless wormed his head under her palm.

"Hey, bud," Hiccup said. "Ready to go flying?"

Toothless closed his eyes with a deep throated purr and Astrid laughed as she scratched at the black scales.

"I thought so."

* * *

A young brunet man pressed himself against the stone wall of a long hallway and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to take his thoughts away from the situation, from the grunts and gasps and moans permeating the wood of the door a good thirty paces from him. The fact that he had not been exposed to such activity for thirteen years did not at all prevent his knowing what was happening. He was familiar with the scriptures; he had first read the Song of Solomon under strict supervision four years earlier.

He was aware of the obvious, as well as the implications, and while he could tolerate the obvious with some embarrassment, the implications made him sick. Prostitution and the poor daughters of God who were slaves to such a life...

He wondered why the Captain had not chosen one of his men to deliver the message, why someone else had not been sent to find the absent soldier.

It was a test of patience, he decided, a test of his strength of spirit. As the Enemy had tested Christ in the desert.

Christ had been tempted with earthly pleasures, the young man reminded himself, while his own situation was simply terrifying. Yet he stayed, consumed with morbid fascination one moment, fear and a desire to flee the next.

"Vocavitque Moses Iosue et dixit ei coram omni Israhel confortare et esto robustus tu enim introduces populum istum in terram quam daturum se patribus eorum iuravit Dominus et tu eam sorte divides," he recited quietly. "Et Dominus qui ductor vester est ipse erit tecum nondimittet nec derelinquette noli timere nec paveas." He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, murmuring the words in his own tongue. "Then Moses summoned Joshua and said to him in the presence of all Israel, 'Be strong and courageous, for you must go with this people into the land that the Lord swore to their ancestors to give them, and you must divide it among them as their inheritance. The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.'" The situation was not the same, he conceded. He was not becoming a great leader like Joshua, but the words provided a measure of comfort.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the door at the end of the hall. The noise had stopped, and after hesitating for a moment he tucked his hands into his long, woolen sleeves and started walking. He was a good ten paces from the door when it flew open and a young girl, younger than he was, stepped into the hallway.

The girl tucked a small, jingling bag into a broad sash cinching her waist and stopped when she saw him. First she glanced away, then she quickly looked back, her mouth slightly slack.

He ducked his head and walked past. He wanted to give her words of encouragement, to tell her that there were other paths in life, that there were ways to live a life pleasing to God, but he knew that she would not understand him. She was Anglo-Saxon, and he did not speak her language.

That was an excuse, he knew. He was a coward. He wondered not for the first time since leaving Normanz if Father Abram had made the correct choice in sending him on such an important mission.

He reached out his hand and rapped his knuckles lightly on the doorframe.

"What?" a hard voice called.

The young man cleared his throat and said quietly, "The Captain asked me to come find you."

Another young men stepped out of the room and slammed the door shut. The first young man jumped slightly.

The first young man met the cold brown eyes of the second. They were the same height, he and Simon, but the second man was much broader and thus much more intimidating.

Simon looked over the young man's shoulder and then grinned wickedly. "Did you see her?"

The man nodded.

"What did you think?"

The first young man swallowed and answered clearly, "I found her sad." And lovely, but he refused to give Simon anything to latch onto.

After a moment, the second man snorted. "No fun. Can't have fun with a monk." He pushed past the first man. "Not even a monk at that. Novice Jehan." He let out a bark of laughter.

The first man turned to follow Simon down the long corridor.

"Why would I ever think a monk could judge a woman?" Simon whipped around and leered at Jehan. "You keep yourselves so pure and clean, no idea of what's between a girl's legs...You probably wouldn't know what to do with a woman if one were naked in your bed."

Jehan wanted to say that he fully understood what Simon was talking about, that lack of exposure did not equate to complete ignorance, but he kept his mouth shut. Why add fuel to the fire?

"You know what the women say about you?" Simon continued, determined to get a rise out of the young novice. "'Too pretty to be a monk. It'd be a waste,' they say."

Jehan looked down at the floor.

"You've probably used that face to your advantage, eh?" Simon chuckled. "Probably been having fun on the sly, eh?"

Jehan's eyes snapped up. "Our precepts guide us on the path to purity and godliness, devoid of the material, maintaining a life that is above censure and pleasing to the Most High."

Simon grabbed Jehan by the front of his robes and the clasp of his short cloak and shoved him hard against the wall. "You watch what you say," he sneered. "I believe in God and damnation, same as the next man, but I don't appreciate your people going around acting all high and mighty, pretending you're better than the lot of us." He spat.

Jehan winced and fought the urge to wipe away the saliva running slowly down his right cheek.

"You keep your worthless piety." Simon released Jehan and wiped his hands on the front of his tunic. "And keep your holy nose out of my face." He turned and started walking.

Jehan reached up and swiped his cheek with his long sleeve and murmured, "As long as you keep yours out of mine."

Simon stopped. "What?"

Jehan quickly scuttled past the larger man.

"What did you say?"

He broke into a full run and did not stop until he had wound his way down staircases and halls and was leaning against the wooden door to the room he and Brother Martinus used. After waiting a moment to catch his breath, he pushed the door open and slipped inside.

"Another scuffle with Simon?" a cheerful bass voice asked.

Jehan sighed as he closed the door. "I know that Christ says we must love our neighbours, but I really cannot stand him." He turned and walked toward a pallet on the floor before falling unceremoniously onto the blankets. "I don't know how he does it, but he always manages to make me so..." He groaned in frustration and threw an arm across his eyes.

"Christ did say we have to love our neighbours, true," Brother Martinus said as he bent over a scrap of paper on his lap. He sat in the one wooden chair in the room, scratching words onto parchment with a messy scrawl. "Liking is a completely different matter."

Jehan took his arm back form his face and peered at the monk. "I don't understand."

The thin man smiled. "Do you think Christ himself particularly liked the men who mocked him? Loved of course, but I don't believe he particularly looked forward to each lovely encounter."

Jehan laughed quietly. "I suppose not."

"You can love someone without enjoying his company. And what is love?"

"'Love is patient, love is kind...'" Jehan drawled as he recited the Pauline epistle. "I know." He flipped onto his stomach and buried his face in his arms. "But whenever he starts trying to get to me...He succeeds, and then I have no patience or kindness or anything else!"

Brother Martinus only hummed to show that he had heard.

"I sometimes wonder if Father Abram made a mistake, that maybe I shouldn't be here."

"Do you want to be?" Brother Martinus asked.

Jehan brought his head up and rested his chin on his forearms and stared at the stone wall. A small spider climbed up the hewn rock and he watched it for a few seconds and wondered briefly to where the previous inhabitants of the monastery they currently occupied had disappeared. Had they gone North for fear of the soldiers? "I want to do God's work."

"You didn't answer the question," Brother Martinus pointed out.

The spider disappeared into a crevice. "I want to see what lies to the north. I want to see the people, to learn things I can't back home." He smiled. "I want to be here."

"Well, that's it then." Brother Martinus corked the bottle of ink next to the leg of the chair and placed his quill on the floor. "You were the most curious, the most willing, and the best option." A minute of silence passed before he said, "I'm writing to the Father. I'm telling him I think it's time you took your permanent vows."

Jehan pushed himself up to his knees quickly and looked at Brother Martinus. "Really?"

The older man chuckled. "Eighteen and still the wide-eyed, excited, curious boy you were when you came to us." He nodded and waved the parchment in the air. "I'm sending this before we leave for the sea tomorrow, and once we get back to Normanz you'll officially join the order."

* * *

Astrid smiled at Hiccup as he waved his hands in the air enthusiastically and jabbered on about connecting rods and velocity and creating a stream-lined effect. He could talk forever about things no one really understood, things only a person with his brains and skills could even begin to comprehend.

The other kids had gone home, and only she and Hiccup remained in the center of town with their respective dragons. She looked at Stormfly and gently scratched at the dragon's blue scales and her reptilian friend purred contentedly. She murmured a promise of chicken and looked back at Hiccup.

"I just have a feeling it would work better, don't you?"

Of course, she had no idea what exactly would work better. She opened her mouth and stared at those big green eyes. She wanted to ask what he had been thinking earlier when Tuffnut had randomly mentioned that Hiccup could get married, could have for a full year already. She wanted to ask why Hiccup had refused to look at her for the better part of an hour. It was an incredibly awkward subject, though, so she simply said, "Definitely."

The answer seemed to satisfy Hiccup and he smiled that crooked smile and started going on again.

Astrid gave Stormfly a final pat and Hiccup paused briefly in his rambling speech to tell Toothless to go home.

"How long is this supposed to last?" she asked before he could start again.

"What? Oh." Hiccup shrugged and started walking toward the Great Hall, and she fell in step beside him. "I don't know. Could last for an hour, could last for ten. That's the talking part." He sighed and looked up at the sky. "Then there's the drinking part. Who knows how long that will last." He laughed quietly. "Some of these chiefs can drink for _days_."

"Sounds like a good time," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes." As they rounded a corner his face broke into a wide grin. "No way..."

"What?" She followed his gaze to the building and noticed a girl sitting out front. She had her feet propped up on a table and her face was covered by a curtain of thick, wavy brown hair. As they got closer, Astrid saw that her legs were covered from the knee down in brown leather boots, with her shins wrapped in sheepskin. Her arms were dressed in a similar fashion, with leather gloves covering everything from her biceps to her knuckles and sheepskin covering her forearms. The girl played with a knife, flipping it in the air and twirling it daringly between her fingers. "Who is that?" Astrid asked.

"An old friend," Hiccup murmured. He started jogging toward the girl and Astrid picked her pace as well. He skidded to a halt in front of the table. "Hey! Finna! I–"

"Och, here we go," the girl said in a terribly thick accent that denoted she was from further South. She brushed her hair aside and looked at Hiccup briefly before turning her attention to her knife, still dancing along her knuckles.

Astrid peered over Hiccup's shoulder and tried to get a better look at his "old friend." The girl wore a dark green tunic with sleeves that stopped just above the leather gloves. She had a broad strip of leather around her waist, and it was fastened by a couple of bronze buckles. The tunic hung below the leather band, but there was a long slit that left the girls entire right thigh exposed, save for a small skirt of mail under the cloth.

Hiccup took a step back and bumped into Astrid's chest. "Uh..."

The girl pointed her blade at him and still did not look at his face. "Look," she sent on with a touch of irritation and a load of boredom. "Ah've bin through enaw trooble wi' ye Berkians, like that Snotlit fellaw fa came by. So, please, let's make thes simple." She gestured to a long piece of parchment on the table. "Ye tell me yer name, an' if yoo're on th' list, ye go in. If yoo're nae," she gestured with the knife toward the village, "ye follaw yer Jorgenson friend an' leave." She sighed, pushed her hair back again, and took her legs off the table. "No tryin' tae flirt yer way in. Deal?"

Astrid narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore prickling sensation on the back of her neck. The girl was beautiful. In a seductive, dark, luscious sort of way. This was Hiccup's "old friend"? He had never mentioned her.

"Um..." Hiccup looked back at Astrid.

She could only shake her head and shrug tightly as she tried to puzzle out what in Midgard his failure to mention the girl could possibly _mean_.

Hiccup looked back at the girl. "What?"

The girl rolled her brown eyes. "Joost give yer name. Ah assume you hae one ay those," she drawled.

Hiccup looked back at Astrid.

Astrid shrugged again. She could barely understand the girl's accent, and she could understand the situation even less. More than that, she could not understand why _she did not know about the girl's existence_. That question irked her more than anything.

Hiccup looked at the girl. "Finna...are you serious?"

The Girl Called Finna (Of Whom Astrid Had Never Heard Mention) held up her hands. "Ah dornt make th' rules. Ah need a name. Yoo're nae on th' list, ye dornt go in."

Hiccup cocked his head to the side. "There's never a list...There's a list?"

"Seems 'at way, doesnae it." She looked up at the sky and tossed her knife into the air and caught the blade deftly between her first and middle fingers. "Name?"

"Um...Ok..." He shrugged. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock...the Third..."

The girl's head snapped up and she stared at him with wide eyes. Then her eyes narrowed for a moment before widening once again. "Hiccup!" she shouted with a huge smile as she threw her hands in the air, letting the knife slip from her fingers and go spinning through the air, finally lodging itself into one of the massive doors of the Great Hall. The girl then jumped over the table and threw her arms around Hiccup.

Astrid clenched her hands into fists at her sides.

"Hiccup! Gods! It's bin too lang! Wha'...Four years? Ah didnae recognize ye!" The girl said rapidly as she pushed Hiccup back to look at him. "Yoo're so different! Gods, yoo're..." She shook her head.

"I know!" Hiccup replied brightly. "I got tall!"

"Ye got hot," the girl said bluntly.

Astrid clenched her teeth. Who _was_ this girl?

"Oh..." Hiccup said with no small amount of discomfort.

"But jist look at ye!" Finna continued, still keeping her hands on Hiccup's upper arms. "Yoo've got a bit ay a beard comin' in...An' yoo've jist changed so much! Everywhere!"

Astrid's fingers itched to break something and she opened her fists and spread her fingers wide. That girl needed to take her hands off of Hiccup. Immediately.

"An' what happened tae yer leg?" Finna asked as she looked down at the ground. Her eyes snapped up to his face. "Nae, dornt tell me. We've bin hearin' stories. Ah expect yoo'll tell me awl abit thes dragon? What's it called... Nicht Fury? We dornt git those dragons so far Sooth. Different breeds up here. But yer leg! I ken. I've heard th' rumours...battlin' th'..." She closed her eyes and opened them again. "Green Death?"

"Red Death," Astrid snapped.

Finna look over Hiccup's shoulder and blinked, surprised. "Sorry. Didnae see ye." She grinned at Hiccup and then at Astrid. "Auld friend. Go on in, Hiccup." She turned back to the table and picked up her parchment before wheeling around to look at Astrid. "Name?"

Hiccup looked at Astrid expectantly.

Astrid had no idea who this girl was or why she had put her hands all over Hiccup, but damn it, that girl was going to know who _she_ was. "Astrid Hofferson," she said through gritted teeth.

"Astrid...Astrid..." Finna inspected her page and shook her head. "Sorry, Ah dornt see ye on th'..." She looked up at Astrid and then at Hiccup, who had merely taken a step back rather than continuing into the Great Hall. "Astrid?" she asked. "She's _Astrid_? That Astrid?" She looked at the blonde girl. "Yoo're Astrid!" She looked back at Hiccup and wagged her eyebrows suggestively as she said, "She's _Astrid..._"

Hiccup turned his face to the sky. "Oh, gods..."

Finna leaned in close to Astrid and jerked her thumb in Hiccup's direction. "He used tae gab abit ye awl th' time. Dornt ken if he still does. Havnae seen him in four years."

"Now would be a great time for the ground to open up and swallow me," Hiccup mumbled.

Astrid raised her eyebrows and blinked. Hiccup talked about her? Frequently? Hiccup never talked about this Finna girl. But he talked about _her_. Or, he had four years prior, but she would take the victory.

"Finally worked up th' guts tae say somethin' tae 'er, Hiccup?" Finna looked at the boy. "Finally got 'er tae look at ye."

Hiccup walked over and grabbed Astrid's elbow. "Right. Thank you, Finna."

The brunette laughed. "Dornt worry. Ah've had mah fun an' embarrassed ye enaw fur one day." She whirled on her heel and headed toward the doors. "Aam gonnae see what's happenin' in there. Yer dad said he wanted tae ken when ye got back. He said they wooldnae start withit ye, but who knows whit they've bin daein' in th' meantime..." She stopped when she noticed her knife still lodged in the wood. She grabbed the hilt and tugged. When nothing happened, she braced her foot against the door and pulled harder.

Astrid looked up and Hiccup coughed.

"Sorry about Finna," he said. "I had forgotten how...She's a bit...um..."

"Interesting," Astrid finished.

"I was going to say crazy." Hiccup looked down at her and smiled and she could tell that his face was slightly more red than usual. "Rowdy Ruckuses," he offered as an explanation.

"Ah."

Finna finally dislodged her knife, tucked it into a leather hilt at her hip, opened one of the doors, and slipped inside.

Hiccup nodded. "Yeah, I haven't visited their tribe for a long time, but they're all..."

"Interesting."

"Right. Crazy." His lopsided grin broadened.

Anger and frustration and happy flutters collided in her chest to form one huge surge of possessiveness. She grabbed either side of his face and pulled him down and roughly pressed her mouth against his.

He let out a small hum of surprise, then leaned into the kiss and brought his hand to her neck and gently ran his thumb along her jaw. She shivered. Gods...the feeling of those sweet, rough callouses against her skin...

Hiccup pulled back. "You're being very physical today," he observed warily.

"Are you complaining?" she asked gruffly. She did not want to talk. No, she did not want to talk at all.

"Well, no, but–"

"Then shut up." She pulled him back down and brought her hands to the back of his head, determined to keep him there for as long as possible. His hair was so thick and soft. She combed her fingers through it, relishing the sensation.

"Ah take back whit Ah said. Ye got 'er tae dae mawr than look."

Hiccup pulled away abruptly and Astrid groaned in frustration. She did not care if the girl saw. By all accounts, it was _better_ if the girl saw.

Finna crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow. "It's abit time. Yoo're gettin' auld."

Hiccup scratched at the back of his neck. "It's not like I'm that...You're older than I am..."

The girl shrugged. "By hardly a year. Besides." She grinned. "Yoong at 'eart." She jerked her head toward the doors. "They're startin' as soon as ye get in there."

Hiccup looked down at Astrid. "I have to...um..."

"Right." As much as she would have loved to detain him, she knew she had best go home. She had disappeared before anyone else had awoken, and her mother was bound to have a fit over her skipping all of her chores. "Go do your thing."

Hiccup nodded awkwardly and headed toward the doors.

The two girls stood still and stared at each other. Finna looked at Astrid in a way that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable. It was not a glare or a challenge, or even a look of curiosity. Finna looked at her the way Hiccup looked at his sketches or at things he sought to improve.

Astrid swallowed. She was being scrutinized. Calculated. Measured and held to a hypothetical standard that she could not guess.

"Well," Finna said quietly, to herself, as if Astrid were not present. "Ah ne'ver thought he'd actually manage it. Ne'er thought he'd dae sae well fur 'imself." With that, she turned and followed Hiccup into the Great Hall.

Astrid slowly turned toward home.

Was that a compliment?

* * *

Hiccup sat down in a wooden chair next to his father.

Stoick leaned over. "Where were you this morning?" he hissed. "You were supposed to be at the docks." He nodded to the room full of chieftains and heirs.

"Everyone came by before dawn and kidnapped me," Hiccup whispered back.

"And I suppose they forced you to ride Toothless as well?"

"Yes," Hiccup said dryly. His father had either noticed Toothless' absence or had noted an unmistakable black dot in the sky. "They're all monsters."

Stoick sighed. "You know how important it was that you be there..."

Hiccup held up his hands. "Look, blame Astrid. It was all her idea, apparently."

"Ah," Stoick said with great understanding. "I see."

For the past three years, Astrid had been having _ideas._ Ideas that usually turned out the way Hiccup's ideas had before the peace with the dragons. Every time she had one of her _ideas,_ and every time something unpleasant occurred as a result, her parents and the village would always joke that the girl had been "spending too much time with Hiccup."

Hiccup glanced around the room at all the faces: some familiar, others not. There were chieftains and their children and the occasional second-in-command, all talking amongst themselves. Spitelout Jorgenson sat on the other side of Stoick.

Snotlout had not been invited, but his father had. Hiccup smiled slightly.

"Well," Finna's voice whispered in his ear, "if that's whit goes oan in public, Ah wonder whit happens behin' closed doors."

Hiccup whipped his head around but she was already walking away and sending him a cheeky smile over her shoulder. The comment served its intended purpose, and he blushed furiously. It set his mind working, though. What _would_ happen behind closed doors if they were left to their own devices long enough? He shook his head. He would not think about that. He was not allowed to think about that. Not in public, anyway. Because, of course, he _did_ think about what could possibly happen behind closed doors, but only when he was alone, and there was no fear of revealing obvious and incriminating evidence that he _had_ been thinking about it, no fear of people's noticing a certain interesting bulge that tunics and leggings were not good at hiding.

"Speaking of the Hofferson girl," Stoick began in a louder voice. He was trying to be casual and failing impressively at it as he squirmed like a child in his chair. "I spoke to Boffer this morning."

"Dad!" His father had broached the subject with him before, and while Hiccup had certainly approved of the plan, he had been very explicit in saying that he wanted to wait. He wanted to talk to her first, to make sure that she was fine with it before their fathers went and arranged everything without them.

Stoick held up his hands. "I know! I know you wanted to put it off a bit longer, but Hiccup, it's been understood for three years, for Thor's sake. Everyone's expected it, and if she was averse to it, I'd think she'd have stopped hanging around you by now."

Hiccup groaned. "Yeah, I know, but–"

"And he agreed," Stoick said, though that fact was implied by nature of the conversation itself. They would not be talking about it if Boffer had turned down the offer. "It's all been arranged."

"Great," Hiccup mumbled. What would she do? What would she say? Was she even ready?

"The wedding will be about four months from now."

Was she even sure? He was sure he wanted her. He had been crazy about her since he was eight, but did she–Was it still too early to think about closed doors?

He looked up and almost immediately met Finna's eyes from across the huge table. She raised her eyebrows in a question and his gave her a very solid shake of his head. No. Absolutely not. Finna would not know until after he himself had time to process it. Better still if she did not find out until after the deed was done. He was fairly certain that even the gods had no idea what would come out of her mouth if she heard such news.

Ever since they were five, Finna had been playing a game with herself. A game he assumed was called "How Many Comments Before Hiccup Turns Bright Red." Every time they were together, at every Thing, at every diplomatic meeting or friendly venture, she had seemed determined to top herself, and she always had. She was good at that game. Too good.

"I just thought, seeing as how good things have been since the peace and since you're getting older...Maybe it's time–"

"Right." It was a huge responsibility. Marriage meant that he would spend the remainder of his life with her, if the gods were kind, and he was completely ready for that. Yearned for it, even. But marriage meant other things, like children, and he was not at all ready for that. Surely they would not need to have children right away. Perhaps there were some herbs or something that would prevent pregnancy, since they certainly would be having–

"Quiet down!" Stoick called over the din, and Hiccup was grateful for the distraction; his mind had almost wandered behind closed doors again. Stoick then turned to a huge man sitting beside Finna: her father, chief of the Rowdy Ruckus tribe, hailing from the Outer Hebrides. "Baldi, you called for this meeting. The floor is yours."

The huge man rose as Stoick sat down and tugged at his long, black beard. He wore gloves similar to Finna's but he was dressed in a blue tunic and a large mantle of brown furs. He cleared his throat and grinned. "Well, It's certainly bin a lang time since i've seen aw ay yer faces."

"Where've you been, Baldi?" someone called out.

"You been avoiding us?"

"Let him talk," Stoick called.

Baldi gave Stoick a quick nod. "Most ay ye are frae further North than we are, an' ye probably havnae heard what's bin happenin' oan Albion recently..." He cleared his throat again. "England's bin subject tae invasion since lest year."

"Someone's finally taking on those weak Anglo-Saxons," one man laughed. Hiccup recognized him as the chief of the Bashem-Oiks.

Someone else smacked him and Baldi continued, "Mah daughter an' 'er spies have learned a bit abit them."

Finna gave a short, straight-faced nod to the room.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. Finna was running the Rowdy Ruckus spy network? Finna could be stealthy? Finna could be quiet?

"They come frae th' Sooth, far Sooth, past th' brine tae th' sooth a' Albion. From Normanz."

"Normanz..." someone else said. "Wasn't that settled by Vikings?"

"Years ago," another man replied.

"You getting all worked up because some other tribe is hurting you in some raids, Baldi?"

The whole room erupted in jeers and laughter.

"They're nae Vikings!" Baldi protested. "They've abandoned th' Vikin' way. They killed th' Anglo-Saxon king."

The men in the room suddenly sobered.

"They killed King Edward?" someone asked quietly.

"Harold," Finna replied sharply. "Edward died. An' he left th' throne tae his coosin, Harold. An' th' leader ay th' invaders from Normanz killed Harold an' took England fur himself." She slowly rose as her father sat. "They're nae raidin'. They're comin' tae destroy us an' our way ay life."

Hiccup gaped. Finna could be _serious_?

"They come an' kill," Finna continued. "Anglo-Sanxons, Celts, ...it doesnae matter. They come tae conquer, in th' name ay their God."

"They only have one?" Hiccup asked.

Finna looked at him with her usual joking demeanor. "Aye, what's wi' that?"

"Taking after the Anglo-Saxons," a female voice said with a slight annoyed edge.

"They've moved fast," Finna added, reverting to seriousness. "An' they've bin bitin' at us noo..."

"What does it have to do with us?" someone called in a drunken slur. Clearly he had been testing the drink that was to be served later.

"I agree. Why bother telling us?"

"You seeking help?" a woman jeered.

"Because their leader is set oan takin' everythin' frae normanz tae Greenland!" Finna shouted.

The room quieted again, but then someone announced, "We can take them! We're Vikings!"

The gathering erupted with cheers and exclaimations and reiterations that, yes, they were Vikings. Therefore, by all logical accounts, they were invincible.

"So were they!" Finna cried above the madness.

"Shut up!" Stoick bellowed.

Gradually, the chaos descended into grudging murmurs.

"They're strong," Finna insisted. "They have new weapons, new armur. Strong an' powerful. An' their forces are massife. They might have th' ability tae wipe us awl out, if they complete their primary objectife." Mawr recently, mah spies an' Ah hae learned 'at they ken abit th' dragons. They've captured their own frae Albion, but they need th' one fa tames 'em, coz they dornt ken how."

Every head slowly turned to look at Hiccup, who gulped and looked at Finna. She was staring at him with the same expression everyone else had, a face full of anticipation and meaning.

He did not want to be at the meeting in the first place, and the current conversation made him even more eager to leave. He needed to get to the forge, to sit down with his sketches, to do something to clear his head. Maybe he would go see Astrid or Fishlegs. Anything but sitting there and hearing that some strong, unknown army was searching for him.

"They'll be comin' fur him so they can build their own army wi' th' beasts on Albion, and use th' beasts tae take th' whole ay th' knoon world," Finna added quietly.

Hiccup would rather be the village screw-up again than know that some massive force was searching for him to fulfill its own desires and destroy his people and life. He watched Finna and waited for a smile to crack her face and for her to declare that it had all been a joke: everything was fine, he would not have to worry about some place called Normanz, and he could get on with his life of peace and joyriding.

But the smile did not come. What came instead was the statement that did not need uttering, since everyone in the room had already realized the implications of the situation.

"Normanz is comin' tae Berk."

**I...can't believe I finally finished this chapter. It just kept getting longer and longer and longer...**

**I decided to have the Normans as our main antagonists–even though the Romans tend to play that role in the books–due to when the movie takes place: a good 300 years after Viking settlement, which puts us in the eleventh century, long after Rome has fallen. This also places us happily at the beginning of the Norman invasion. Also, due to the controversiality of the existence of Astrid and Camicazi, Camicazi will not be appearing in this. I love Camicazi, I think she's marvelous, but she has not appeared in the movie franchise, and until she does, I will assume that the movie franchise and book series are **_**separate**_**. To maintain the peace and all that. I may reference her existence, though. Haven't really decided. Plus, just for reference, I am placing Berk somewhere around the Faroe Islands.**

**I debated giving Finna a full Scottish accent, in full phonetics, but then I figured it would be nigh impossible to read, so she has a lovely mixture, a bit more than Gobber, but not too bad, in my opinion.**

**Historical Disclaimer: The Normans never really tried to get past the northern borders of England and take Scotland (not present-day, mind you. Much of present-day Scotland fell under Norman rule), and as far as I am currently aware, they never even bothered going at the Inner and Outer Hebrides or any other Norway-controlled territories. But Sweet Baby Thor in a Thunderstorm, dragons exist, so why the Hel not? Also, typically, a Viking boy would become a man when he had passed between thirteen and fifteen winters. For the purposes of my story, however, this monumental age will be sixteen, making Hiccup seventeen. I just need them all a bit older. Vikings also didn't celebrate birthdays, but we're in a magical universe where dragons exist, so I think I can be allowed that liberty as well. Of that note...You know what? Fuck it. I'm just going to stop leaving historical disclaimers and leave a huge dissertation on Norse and Norman anthropology as the last chapter. Sounds perfect.**

**Jehan is the Old Norman French form of Iohannes, and should be pronounced Jean, as in Jean Valjean. Normanz is the Old Norman French form of Normandy. Even though I'm not leaving any more historical disclaimers until the end, I will provide Norman translations of words I will be using. I can't very well upload my Norman-English dictionary, now can I? Oh, don't make that face. You know you want one.**

**Leave a review if it suits your fancy. I'm not big on demanding them.**

**And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pretend to study for midterms.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, again. I finally finished this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long, but I hope I made up for the wait in length.**

**I am going to start this by saying something so there is absolutely no confusion or ideas that this is yet another love-triangle-fic: I despise love triangles. Unless they work very nicely and are legitimately believable or can be taken out of the plot and we still have something to work with (examples of good love triangles: Hunger Games, Les Miserables; examples of bad, ridiculous, unbelievable love triangles: twilight). Of that note, I strongly believe that Hiccup would never even look at another woman while Astrid is still around, and it would be entirely out of character for him to suddenly start thinking about a girl he has always seen as a friend especially now that he's getting married. Also, any woman who would dare make a move on Hiccup while Astrid is around would end up with an axe in her skull, courtesy of our favourite shield-maiden.**

**Now that I've got that bit out of the way...**

**Much thanks to peacelight24 for being perfectly and wonderfully distracting. And for being a marvelous Beta.**

**Chapter 2: Marriage**

Astrid opened the wooden door to her home and thumped the toes of her boots against the threshold, effectively knocking off collected mud, before stepping through the doorway.

"And where have you been all morning?" her mother asked from her usual place by the fireside.

She closed the door behind her and answered, "With Hiccup."

"Oh?" Gundy Hofferson looked over her shoulder and then back to the pot she was busy stirring. "How is he?"

Astrid raised an eyebrow. Her mother _never_ asked about Hiccup. She had always been more inclined to remark that _of course_, Astrid had been with Hiccup and to wonder where else Astrid would be and to question why she had even bothered asking. It was not that Gundy did not care for Hiccup. On the contrary. She liked him a great deal and deeply respected him for playing a central role in ending a three-hundred year war. It was simply that she could always expect that whenever Astrid was gone, she was with Hiccup. And, if truth were known, she was gone far more often than she was at home and helping with general housework. "He's fine..."

"Really?" Gundy banged the wooden spoon against the side of the iron pot. "Just fine?" She bent down and reached into a small bag at her feet and pulled out a handful of small tubers. She stood up and dropped them into the pot.

"Happy, I guess," Astrid added.

Gundy stuck the spoon in the pot and turned around and smiled broadly. "Oh, good. Yes. That's very good."

"Yeah..." Astrid shrugged. "The same as usual, I guess." What was wrong with her mother?

Gundy's smile faltered. "The same as...Oh." She looked back at the hearth as if expecting that the dancing flames would answer a question flitting around in her head. She looked back at her daughter. "I was thinking we should work on some things for your heiman fylgia tonight. Just make a few things you can take with you when–"

Astrid groaned and stomped across the pounded and packed dirt floor to the set of stairs that led to the loft. "I'm going to go air out the furs." She would rather do some mundane task than have that conversation again. When would her mother realize that she just did not want to think about her dowry? It was unnerving and honestly frightening, thinking about the ever-looming prospect of marriage. Possibly to someone she did not even know.

"Thorhalla's already doing them," Gundy said. "Besides! Just a bit? We really don't have much time and–"

"_Mom._" Astrid turned and looked at her mother. "We have time. It's not like I'm already..." She trailed off and her eyes widened. Everything made sense. Hiccup's awkwardness and avoidance of a question she was extremely curious about, her mother's sudden interest in the boy... "Mom...What–"

"Your father needs to talk to you," Gundy said quickly in an unusually high voice. "He's out back." She turned back to the pot and made a large show of being very busy.

"Mom," Astrid repeated as her heart began to race. Fear? Excitement? Hope? She was not sure. "Did–"

Gundy started humming loudly.

"_Mom_!"

Gundy opened her mouth and started singing a honey-sweet lullaby she had often sung to Astrid when the girl had been younger. Only at that moment it was not as sweet as it was annoying.

Astrid groaned and stomped over to the back door. As soon as she had grabbed the handle, her mother said, "Take that bucket there, would you, dear?"

Astrid bent over and grabbed the bucket next to the door and glared at her mother. She did not want to take the bucket outside. She did not want to do any sort of favours or chores until she got answers. But answers were outside, and she might as well take the damn bucket.

She flung the door opened and stepped outside and unceremoniously dropped the bucket beside her. "Dad!" She marched into the yard as the door slammed shut behind her. "Dad!"

Grimefoot looked up from where he sat on a fencepost and took a moment from sharpening a pair of shears to call, "Dad! You're daughter wants you! She looks angry. Mom did a great job hiding everything, I'll wager."

Astrid rolled her eyes and silently thanked the gods that Grimefoot and Thorhalla lived with the family and brought just a little humour into every situation. It had been a kind gesture, staying on to help even after getting married, and she would be eternally grateful that she would stay with her brother for just a little longer.

Until she moved out.

"Dad!"

Boffer walked around a corner of the small barn in the yard and stuck a pair of shears into his belt and picked a few loose pieces of wool out of his yellow beard. "Ah. Yes. Astrid."

Grimefoot snorted. "And I was really looking forward to the surprise on her face."

"Quiet, you," Boffer said sharply. "Astrid...I need to talk to you."

"So I gathered," she returned. If her father was going to say what she thought he was going to say...Was she even ready? She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look tough and ready, but could not help swiping at her bangs nervously and biting her lips. She was sure she looked ridiculous, all nerves and pretense and anger and anticipation, and Grimefoot's sudden and obnoxious burst of laughter served to confirm her suspicions.

"Um..." Boffer looked down at his hands and anxiously fiddled with a small tuft of wool. "Stoick came by today...to talk...about...well..."

She decided she was ready. Perfectly ready. "If you said 'no,' I swear on the name of every god in the seven worlds that I will _never _speak to you again."

Boffer sighed and smiled.

Grimefoot let out a low whistle. "Well, I must say, I did not expect you would be this excited."

Astrid raised her eyebrows and smiled slightly. Really? With the way she and Hiccup treated each other in public, how could anyone be surprised by her reaction to the news?

"I mean, if Dad had given his consent to Hiccup, I would have expected it," Grimefoot continued.

Astrid's smile fell. What was he talking about? Her father had...No. No!

"But he definitely spoke to Stoick, and seeing you all excited about it...I'm a little shocked."

Oh, gods. Her mother's concern. Hiccup's awkwardness...He had _known_. It was cruel and unfair and horrible and it just did not make any _sense_. She refused to believe it. She felt sick and frightened and she wanted to run. She wanted to grab Hiccup and Toothless and Stormfly and just leave. She wanted to scream that Grimefoot was wrong, to tell him that it was simply impossible–

"Grimefoot, go inside," her father barked before looking her in the eye. "I spoke to Stoick."

She felt faint.

"About his son."

Oh. She let out a breath she did not remember holding.

Grimefoot cackled as he jumped off the fence and strolled leisurely into the house. "The look on your face...Worth it!"

Astrid fought the urge to pick up the nearest rock and chuck it at his head.

"You're marrying Hiccup," her father said forcefully as soon as the door was closed. He blinked and added in a softer tone, "If that's alright. I can try to work something out–"

"Dad." Astrid smiled. "I told you I wouldn't speak to you if you had turned him down, and you're seriously asking if it's alright?"

Boffer smiled and relaxed his shoulders. "So it's fine?"

"It's great." Astrid furrowed her brow as a new thought occurred to her. "When?"

Her father looked down at his beard and picked out a small piece of white, fluffy wool. "End of autumn. Just before winter sets in."

She nodded. "That's four months away." She smiled at her father. Big and strong and kind, distracting himself with the small bits of white in his yellow beard, trying so hard not to look at his daughter after telling her that he was essentially selling her to another man in fourth months, trying to keep hidden his terror of letting go of his girl.

Granted, she would not be going far. A fifteen-minute walk up the hill. Twenty-five or thirty, depending on how bad the ice got in the winter. And he was essentially selling her to Hiccup, which was not a bad situation. Boffer liked Hiccup, he knew Hiccup would be good to her, knew that she would settle for no one else.

She suddenly found swallowing very difficult, and she ran forward and threw her arms around Boffer's middle and buried her face in his beard before the pricking in her eyes could spill over. That big and strong and kind man hugged her back.

"It's four months," he said quietly, assuringly.

She nodded and accidentally breathed a small piece of wool into her mouth. Something poked her in the stomach and she pulled back.

The shears were still in her father's belt.

She pulled the piece of wool off her tongue and said, "You'd better get back..."

"Right." Boffer pulled out the sheers and pointed them at her. "Go see what your mother needs." And then he was gone.

Astrid turned back to the house and hugged herself. She was getting married.

* * *

The meeting had concluded maybe an hour before, but everyone in the room was still talking about the news and the threat that had once seemed a joke, but when backed up by the unbelievable had become a horrible threat. The Bog Burglars had already fled the islands. They were on their way to Iceland when the meeting had been called, a fact that explained their absence.

Hiccup and Stoick were engaged in a topic that looked incredibly deep and important and would be a complete shame and waste to interrupt, never minding the fact that it would be excessively rude. The chief of the Lava Louts, who had surprisingly been very civil, given their tumultuous relationship with the Hairy Hooligans, was arguing with Spitelout Jorgenson. Possibly over the fact that Berk was not a decent ally since they did not keep slaves. Someone behind her was muttering in that funny, clipped accent of the Berkians–all sharp consonants and short vowels–that three bottles of the best mead had mysteriously disappeared since the night before, and Stoick was not going to be happy about it. The chief of the Bashem-Oaks was talking to the chief of the Rowdy Ruckuses, asking if he were absolutely positive that no word had come from the Rock Heads since a force of Norman men had marched their direction a month or two earlier. He had friends there, they all did, and it was just so unusual that they would not appear or send word, but he just couldn't believe blah, blah, blah...

And Finna was incredibly bored. Bored of the topic, bored of the same information she had known for months, bored of having absolutely nothing fun to do.

She had arrived anticipating two things. The first, a simple game, should have started half an hour ago. She burned for that game to start. She had been a strong contender for years, only to get beaten by Gobber or Stoick or her own father every time. But this time, Gobber was not around, and only her father and Stoick stood in her way. And the chances that she would be facing only one of them at the end were extremely high. She had a shot at winning.

The second thing she had anticipated had been ruined by the annoying and unexpected presence of a certain blue-eyed, blonde-haired hussy. He had done well for himself, and Finna would never take that back. She had meant it. From what she had seen on the island and from what he had said, she felt that she could judge that he probably could not do much better. On Berk, it seemed, much better did not exist. The girl was pretty, she allowed, in a very traditional way. A pleasant, round face with a pointed chin. Big, blue eyes. And she was smart. Smart enough to take advantage and do as well as she possibly could for herself. After all, what girl did not want to associate herself with the good-looking, intelligent hero? And the son of the chief, at that. Everyone knew a chief and his family were guaranteed spots in Valhalla, regardless of how they died.

The girl had looked so furious before giving her name. Burning with possession, enraged that anyone would dare _touch_ Hiccup while she was around. She could have been anyone, some girl trailing the hero, some young thing trying to catch a chance at being more than friends. Then Finna had heard the name, and she had realized the implications of the girl hanging around him. A girl who had ignored Hiccup for most of his life, who probably would have treated him with disdain even if he had worked up the courage to talk to her. And there she had been, acting as if she belonged next to him; and there he had been, acting as if it were perfectly natural.

It had infuriated Finna and led her to make a mistake: accidentally letting slip that Hiccup talked about the girl. That look of triumph had crossed Astrid's face, and Finna had known she had to leave. Finna did not make mistakes in conversation. Every comment was calculated, precise, measured perfectly to hit its intended target. And she had missed.

Leaving for a moment to collect her thoughts and returning to a devastating and terrible sight...And that horrible look of victory on Astrid Hofferson's face.

Finna wondered if Astrid had sunk her claws into Hiccup immediately after his heroics or if she had at least attempted the decency of waiting a few weeks so as to not be too obvious.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stoick moving across the room and she stood up and started walking toward Hiccup.

She could still remember the first time she had heard the name "Astrid Hofferson." She had been nine. She had hated her. She had not even known the girl, she had not needed to. Hiccup had loved her, and that had been all the reason she had needed. Now, she had even more reason.

She slowed her pace as she approached him. He was bent over the table, lost in thought. His brow was furrowed and his green eyes narrowed. It had been four years since they had last seen each other, and he had not changed a bit. He looked different, definitely, but the same habits, the same expressions, the same sarcasm, the same peculiar confidence that no one ever really saw unless they talked to him and gave him the chance to just be. The same boy she protected from bullies whenever she could.

She saw one of those bullies, the new chief of the Berserks, Dagur the Deranged, moving toward Hiccup with a wicked glint in his eye.

All those times she had fished Hiccup out of frozen ponds. All those times she had pulled him away just before Dagur had unsuccessfully shot an apple off his head with an arrow. All those times she had she had foiled dangerous "game" after dangerous "game."

Deranged was the perfect adjective.

And everything she had done to Dagur in turn. Herbs in his food that would make him sick for days. Snakes in his clothing. Simple things. The occasional besting him at combat. The occasional tying him to trees and leaving him for a few hours before coming back to find him starved and teary-eyed, bending down beside him and whispering various threats. The occasional carrying out those threats.

She stopped a few paces away from Hiccup and crossed her arms across her chest. Dagur noticed her then and froze in his tracks. She raised her eyebrows, sending him a silent challenge, and he dashed away.

It was strange to think that even after four years, Hiccup was still completely unaware of how desperately he needed protecting. How desperately he needed her protecting, though she whole-heartedly wished he merely needed her.

No.

She walked over to the kegs of ale and grabbed two mugs.

In the end, she knew, he had made a choice, and it did not matter at all what she thought. It did not matter that she disapproved of the decision, for it was his to make. It did not matter that she disapproved of the girl, for she was his to choose. Her loyalties ran extremely deep, and Finna knew that in spite of everything–four years, disappointed hopes she would never let herself dwell on or let him realize, the existence of a certain blonde girl–she would protect him as she always had. She would protect him from the soldiers who were hunting him. She would protect him from a nation across the sea. And she would protect him from Astrid Hofferson, if the need were to ever arise.

And if her assessment of the girl was correct, and she was positive it was correct, he would _need_ protecting.

* * *

Astrid lifted the small, framed piece of fabric from the board. It was a thin fabric, with thin strings woven just loose enough to allow sunlight to pass through but just tight enough to keep birds and flies away. It was tacked tight to four strips of wood in a large rectangle and served quite nicely when drying fruits. She set the screen on the ground and picked a juniper berry off the board. The light from the sun had drained the colour a bit, but they were almost completely dry. In a few more days, they would be ready. Her mother would store them, and that winter she would use them for–

Except Astrid would not be around that winter. Because she was getting married. She pressed her lips together to stop the smile that was beginning. She had smiled so much that day already, and her cheeks hurt terribly, and she was afraid that one more grin would break her face. She dropped the juniper berry in the small wooden bowl in her lap and it bounced, seemingly singing the word playing in her mind. _Marriage._

There was that uncontrollable smile. Astrid was certain she had pulled a muscle in her cheek. But she just could not stop. She could not contain the emotion of the day.

She started scooping the berries into the bowl.

She had always known it would happen. She had known since she was old enough to talk that she would get married like her mother had, have children like her mother had. There was no honour in the alternative, no chance of entering Valhalla if she refused to perform her most important role as a Viking woman, no hope of favour from the gods if she were to remain a maiden for the rest of her life. She had always known, and it had only even been a matter of whom and when. And she had hoped for years that it would be Hiccup. She would have put up a tremendous fight had her parents attempted to marry her off to anyone else.

But fighting was unnecessary because she was marrying Hiccup.

She had to find something to be sad about. She was almost certain her face was stuck. She puffed up her cheeks and blew out and bit down on her lips, but her mouth kept twitching, yearning to break into that smile again.

"What are you all happy about?"

Damn Ruffnut. There was that horrible, excruciatingly wide smile again. "I'm getting married," Astrid said with a slight giggle. This was getting ridiculous. She looked up at Ruffnut, who was leaning against a fence post a few paces away. She had a cloth-covered jar in one hand, and she was resting her head in her other.

"Huh." Ruffnut straightened and set the jar on the fence post before jumping onto the fence and sitting on one of the beams. "Considering the look on your face, the man in question would have to be..."

"Hiccup," Astrid finished with a nod.

Ruffnut smirked. "I thought so." She crossed her arms on her knees and leaned forward. "Does he know? Because the last time we had this conversation, we were fourteen and he was unconscious and I'm pretty sure he had no idea you had decided yours and his future."

Astrid actually did not know whether or not he was aware of the situation, but his behaviour definitely hinted at his knowing. She scooped the last of the juniper berries into the wooden bow and stood up and hugged the bowl to her chest. "He knows."

Ruffnut blinked several times. "Oh. Then you're really...Oh." She smiled. "Well, congratulations, then."

Astrid knew her cheeks would be extremely sore in the morning. "Thanks."

"When is it?"

"Four months from now. Just before winter sets."

Ruffnut nodded. "That's a long time."

Astrid shook her head. "No too long."

"I guess." Ruffnut grabbed the jar off the post and ran her hand over the cloth covering. "You two will be the first ones. Not that we all didn't expect it, but still..." She looked up. "It's weird. It seems like yesterday we were flying for the first time, and now you're getting married, and tomorrow we could all have children..."

Astrid smile finally left her face.

Children.

She completely forgotten about that part. She knew it would happen someday, but she did not feel ready, and she highly doubted she would be ready in four months. She had heard that there were herbs that could help prevent pregnancy; she could always use them for a couple of years.

She hoped Hiccup would be alright with that, not that he really had a choice in the matter.

"Yeah..." she murmured before smiling again. "It'll be you soon."

Ruffnut's mouth fell open. "Oh...I guess..." She looked at the jar in her hand and held it out. "My mom sent me over with this. Spring honey."

Astrid walked over and reached for the jar. She then tucked it under her arm and held her bowl in both hands. "Thanks."

Ruffnut nodded and slid off the fence. As she walked away she called over her shoulder, "All the girls will be coming to you for advice now! You're an old woman!"

"I know!" Astrid laughed. "You will be also, eventually!"

"Congratulations!"

She grinned and turned toward the house. She'd take everything inside, and then maybe take an hour or so to massage her aching cheeks.

* * *

Hiccup leaned over the table and sighed. War was looming, and would possibly come before he could even get married, if the reports were true. And he trusted wholeheartedly that the reports were true. He could not quite grasp the fact that he was, in fact, getting married soon, but he would process it later. There was the matter of possible war to attend to first.

"Ye look intense."

He started and looked up beside him. "My dad and I were just talking about what we would do if they were to attack in the next four months..." He made to stand up, but Finna plopped down in his father's chair and tucked her feet under her.

"Got somethin' planned in four months?" she asked pointedly with a familiar gleam in her eye. She grinned her signature grin–wide and laughing and extremely self-satisfied. She set a mug of ale in front of him and placed a second on the table in front of herself.

Hiccup coughed. "That's just as far ahead as we got..." he lied. She knew. Of course she knew. What else did Vikings plan as far in advance as four months?

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

She definitely knew, but if he were to say anything, he would never hear the end of it.

When he glared at her, she raised her hands in defeat. "Alright. Ye dornt hae tae tell me. Ah'm jist curious."

He snorted. "You're never just curious, Finna. You are the most intentionally curious person I know." Most of the information she gathered she later used to her advantage. She was the epitome of conniving and quick-witted.

Finna nodded solemnly. "A truer statement has ne'er bin said." She picked up her mug of ale but did not drink. "So whit hae ye bin up tae? Other than th' dragons, Ah mean." She pointed at him. "An' Ah fully intend tae hear th' entire story afair Ah leave, ye ken."

Hiccup sighed and looked up at the piece hanging from the ceiling. Once it had been a gold dragon with a sword through its middle, but after the peace, Stoick had replaced it with a wreath of antlers–an old gift from Finna's father. "Remember when we agreed that you were never 'just curious' and that you ask every question with some purpose in mind, usually to torture some poor soul with embarrassing information?"

Finna tapped her chin and looked quite thoughtful for a moment. "Ah'm nae so sure we agreed oan th' lest part ay tha'." Hiccup raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. "Fine, ye want mah intentions?" She leaned over and knocked his shoulder lightly with her fist. "Yoo're mah friend, Ah havnae seen ye fur four years, Ah've missed ye, if ye can believe tha', an' now Ah want tae ken how yer life has bin until now."

Hiccup grinned. "Aw, Finna...You missed me?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Ah always miss ye," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Life's mawr fun when yoo're around."

"For you," he pointed out.

She nodded. "Fur me." She shifted in the seat and rested her head against the back of the chair. "So? Lest time we talked ye were workin' oan some flyin' machine?"

Hiccup looked at the mug of ale on the table. "Oh, that's what you want to know about? Well, I scrapped that. Not much need for it with the dragons, you know."

"Fair point."

He looked at Finna, at those bright, brown eyes that always listened to him when no one else in the world would. A dear friend from his childhood. The sister he never had. "But lately I've been working on this cart that would move itself, but I haven't quite figured out how..." He sighed and looked at his hands. "I mean, I've got the wheels and the steering worked out. Once the wheels are moving I know how to keep them running and how to stop it, but I've been going crazy trying to figure out how to start them without pushing the cart down a hill first." He looked back at Finna. "Like, what if you need to go up? And I was thinking, what if something like a bow could spring it forward...but the wood would probably snap, and I just can't...Sorry." He chuckled. "My dad says I shouldn't go off like that..."

Finna waved the comment aside. "It's fine." She set her mug back on the table. "Ye ken, ye coolds try makin' it out ay metal. Ah've seen some smiths workin' wi' bronze an' makin' it mawr..."

He cocked his head to the side. "But I'm not sure if that's what I...I mean I could always raise the tin ratio and make a more malleable alloy..."

"Mebbe wind it around itself?" she suggested. "Like a snake afair it jumps."

"Yeah...Yeah!" He grinned. "And you'd think, that the tighter its wound the more tension it would hold so it would spring into place with more force giving the cart more speed and distance..." Hopefully it would have enough force to continually propel the cart uphill, since things did have a tendency to roll down. Why was that? Why did things always go down? Why did things always fall to the ground? Why not sideways? Even if they were thrown, eventually things fell straight down. Maybe there was something under the earth pulling them down. And as fall as pulling went, why did waves form? Was something in the ocean pulling and pushing? Maybe Jormungandr, but no stories of the Midgard Serpent said anything about his making waves...

He started when he saw fingers snap in front of his face and heard Finna say, "Hiccup."

He shook his head. "Sorry."

She grinned. "Tha' starved fur someone fa listens?"

Hiccup laughed slightly. "Something like that." He sighed. "Most people just tune me out. Some even walk away."

"E'en _Astrid_?" she said with a slight leer.

He smiled. "She's actually one of the few who make an attempt to understand. Usually she gets it." And whenever she did not understand, it was usually because he was doing a horrible job of explaining it. That, or it did not really make sense to begin with.

"Really?" She sounded genuinely surprised, which was unusual. It was a rare occasion when one caught Finna by surprise. "An' how are things here? Wi' th' village."

"Great." He noted her disbelieving look and leaned in. "Really great. Better."

She nodded. "Ah'll bet. Now tha' yoo're th' hero."

He shrugged. That was not the whole of it, though that had certainly helped get his foot in the door as far as having a place went. He preferred to think that people liked him for him. "I wouldn't say that. I just...have things to do now. I have a place." Finna looked away quickly. "What?"

She looked back at him and smiled. "Naethin'."

He smiled back. "What about you? You're heading up the spy network? What's that about?"

She nodded and smiled her signature grin. "Three years now."

He shook his head. "I had no idea you'd be good at that. No idea you could even be quiet."

She shrugged and kept that self-satisfied smirk on her face. "Well, whit was it ye called me again? Curiously some–"

"Intentionally curious," he finished.

"Exactly. Ah–"

Somewhere in the room, someone started the old drinking song. It was a simple, lively tune that served a single purpose: to further a game as old as the gods.

_"Gods bless the man who gave us drink,_  
_What drowns us in its stink!_  
_Gods bless the man who gave us ale,_  
_What keep through wind and hail!"_

Finna grabbed her mug of ale off the table and grinned wickedly at Hiccup. He sighed and grabbed his own. The idea of the game was to finish your drink first. It worked like a tournament, people falling out or literally falling down until there were two left. Finna was extremely good at the game. Hiccup was horrible at it.

_"And now you boys, make proud your mother,_  
_With ale in one hand and ale in the other,_  
_Turn to your side and find your brother,_  
_Challenge him to drink!"_

The entire room went silent as men began to drink. Finna immediately started downing her ale and Hiccup rushed to keep up. He had no chance of winning against her, of course, as very few people did, but he would try to muster something.

In a matter of minutes, Finna slammed her mug on the table. Hiccup pulled his away and looked down in dismay.

Still half-full.

Finna frowned slightly as the rest of the room slowly broke into laughter whenever rounds ended. "Yoo're nae fun."

He shrugged by way of apology.

She looked around and noted her father had just lost to Stoick. "Ah'm gonnae beat yer dad thes year." She stood up with her empty mug so she could go refill it for the next round.

"Good luck with that." No one had bested his father in years.

Finna rolled her eyes. "Well, Ah'm glad ye hae such faith in me." She walked away and turned around to shout, "Ye watch, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock! Jist ye watch!"

He smiled and took a deep swig of ale. He liked having her back in his life.

* * *

She sat at one of the many long tables, completely alone in the center., as everyone else in the candle and fire-lit room squeezed to the end of the benches and around other tables. No one wanted to sit near her. Even the tavern girl hurried to set a small wooden bowl and mug in front of her before scurrying away, as if terrified that contact would result in contamination.

The girl merely pulled her red cloak from around her shoulders and folded it neatly on the bench beside her, looking for all the world as if she did not care.

The observer in the corner knew better. She knew that look. She wore that look every day. She stood up and walked quietly and quickly to the table. She had been taught how to move around without being seen years before. When she reached the bench across from the girl, she sat and slid her legs across the wooden seat and leaned across the table.

"What's in the stew tonight?" she asked as a short introduction.

The girl paused with the wooden spoon almost at her opened mouth. She set the spoon back in the bowl. "Ymma."

The new arrival nodded.

"Cabbage and peas and fish."

"They had carrots last night," the girl named Ymma said.

"They must have run out," the other girl suggested. She lifted the spoon from the bowl and quickly brought it back to her mouth.

As the girl swallowed, Ymma asked, "Any good?"

"Hot." The girl shrugged. "It's food."

"It's food," Ymma agreed and lifted her hand to get the tavern girl's attention. The tavern girl looked startled for a moment, then nodded and disappeared through a door.

"You keep appearing from the shadows like that and scaring people, they'll start to call you a witch."

"I'm not a witch," Ymma insisted.

"No, but you move as quiet as death. And you're choice of religion doesn't help."

The tavern girl reappeared and set a wooden bowl and mug of ale in front of Ymma. She waited while Ymma fished a small coin from her pocket, and with a final derisive look at the other girl, turned and scuttled away.

The sounds of an argument broke out in one corner of the room. Someone laughed too loudly. A drunken man stumbled and fell down while his friends jeered at him.

The girl looked at Ymma. "You shouldn't talk to me in public."

"I don't see why not."

The girl took another bite of her food and swallowed before replying, "I'm a whore."

"And I worship the old gods," Ymma pointed out. "I don't have many other friends anyway."

"We're not friends," the girl said.

"No," Ymma agreed. "We're not friends." She took a bite of the fish stew.

"Because that would mean we knew each other well." The girl shoved a spoonful of cabbage into her mouth.

"Yes. Or that I knew your name."

The girl froze for a second and swallowed. The two sat for several minutes and ate in silence.

Ymma reached for her mug of ale and took a gulp before saying, "You've never told me your name."

"I don't have a name," the girl said shortly before she began shoving food into her mouth.

"Everyone has a name," Ymma said.

"I don't," the girl replied around a mouthful of peas and broth. She swallowed and scraped her wooden spoon along the sides of the empty bowl. "Never did," she added upon realizing there was no more food with which she could stall the conversation. "Maybe I did, but it was too long ago to remember. It left with my parents, and I'm not even sure I had those." She grabbed her own mug of ale and drank it in one draft.

"Everyone has parents." Ymma pointed at the girl with her spoon. "Everyone has a name."

The girl stared down at her mug and finally murmured, "Oswyth."

"Is that your name?"

"No, I just like it." The girl set the mug down and crossed her arms on the table. "I met a traveling girl named Oswyth a few years ago. She was pretty, and I thought her name was too."

Ymma nodded and took a sip of ale. "Oswyth, then. You were at the old monastery earlier, Oswyth."

The newly-named girl looked at her sharply. "Yes."

"On business."

"Whoring business, you mean." Oswyth narrowed her eyes. "Who do you work for?"

Ymma tapped her fingers on the table and smiled. "I think you know."

Oswyth nodded. "The princess on the island. The Viking Lady...What's her name again?"

"Finna."

"Lady Finna."

Ymma shook her head and absently ran a hand through her long blonde hair. "She hates that. Hates being called 'lady' or 'princess.' She says Vikings don't have ladies or princesses."

Oswyth shrugged. "She'll be queen of them someday."

"She says they don't have kings and queens either." Ymma tapped her spoon against the edge of her bowl. What would it be like, living in a world where the people did not have a king? A world where they had a leader, but one who truly cared for and led to meet the needs of the people? A world in which the people had speaking power?

It would be a strange world, she knew. A strange one. Outside of the small population of viking villages, it would never work. Too many people to keep up with, too many names to remember, too many demands and views and needs.

"The Vikings in Norway do," Oswyth pointed out. "They have a king."

Ymma sighed. News did not travel fast except to those trained to receive it, and even though it had been several months, few people actually cared about the comings and goings of kings, or their names or what they did. They cared even less about the kings of other countries like England or Norway. In fact, Ymma was surprised Oswyth knew about the existence of Norway, since it was so far removed from the coast and their daily lives. "They _did_. King Harald, then King Harold of England killed him. Then the soldiers' king killed _Harold_." She did not bother to say which soldiers. Everyone knew. They were the only soldiers around. No one had really questioned their presence, thinking it was just another power struggle. Only Ymma and a few educated persons in town had figured that their proximity meant their people had taken the lands below and that they were about to be subject to yet another conquerer.

"Harald and Harold...Too many Harold's. Can't keep up anymore." Oswyth raised her eyebrows slightly. "So what? The man from Normanz is king of Norway now? Since the King of England killed the King of Norway and all."

Ymma shook her head. "Just England."

"That's weird." Oswyth leaned back and crossed her arms. "English have a new king from across the Ocean. He wants us too, doesn't he?"

Ymma sighed. "He wants the world."

"And MacBeth is still sitting by?" Oswyth huffed. "When will he do something?"

"I don't know." She did know. MacBeth would not do anything. He had been dead for over ten years. Máel Coluim was the king of Scotland, and he was a coward. He had submitted to the Norman king months before.

Oswyth shook her head. "We're Anglo-Saxons living too far North and too far West. We don't belong in Strathclyde. The Scotts took it years ago, the English have been trying, and now the men from Normanz..." She sighed. "I don't even know what's happening anymore. It's too difficult. Keeping up with it all."

Ymma leaned forward. "She wants to know about them. The soldiers from Normanz." She had come for information. She would leave with it. "Their plans, their tactics, their strengths..."

"I don't know," Oswyth confessed. "I don't speak their language."

Ymma cocked her head to the side. "Then how do you know what to do?" The question had nothing to do with the topic, but she was curious.

Oswyth shrugged. "With enough experience, you always know what to do." She scanned the room and jerked her head forward. "See that man there?"

Ymma turned and looked around. There were many men.

"The one glaring at me like I'm Judas himself."

Ah. That one. Sitting next to the sour-faced woman who kept poking him in the arm and saying something that was doubtless a typical wifely nag.

"He comes to me because his wife won't suck his cock for him. He likes that."

Ymma turned around quickly, immediately regretting that she had asked.

Oswyth's eyes settled on another man, but Ymma did not dare turn around. "So does that one. And that one there." She jerked her head toward the large fireplace to the side. "And that boy sweeping the ashes." She tapped her chin and continued as if she were merely discussing the weather. "The magistrate likes to take a girl from behind, like a dog. The setter likes to hit. Not hard, just a little."

Ymma felt like vomiting. She did not want to know. It was not her business. Though, in all actuality, Finna would probably be glad of the information. Blackmail material, she'd call it.

"The fishmonger likes to _be _hit." Oswyth scoffed as her tone took a more biting edge. "But in the end, they all just want to stuff it somewhere warm."

Ymma had no idea what to say. "You know your trade."

Oswyth pushed her bowl to the side and became very engrossed in the grain in the table. "She pays you well, the princess?"

"Very well."

Her head snapped up. "Is she looking for anyone else?"

Ymma shrugged. Finna did not discuss the rest of the spy network with her. She had no idea how many others Finna paid, or even what Finna did on her own. The young woman was full of secrets. "I can ask her."

Oswyth traced her finger along one of the hundreds of wood grains and stopped when she came to a knot. "I want to stop knowing," she all but whispered. "I want to stop knowing what they want."

Ymma placed her hand on top of Oswyth's. "I will ask," she assured her.

"I need to get out," the girl explained quietly. "They'll turn on me one day and get all high and might and purge the town of immorality." She bit her lip. "I could hang." She looked at Ymma. "They'll hang you too, if you're not careful. It's just fine for the Vikings, you know, to worship the old gods. They bring trade and protection from bandits in the forest and they convinced the soldiers not to burn this town, and there's not much the people here could do to them anyway, their being so strong and all. But you're not one of them. You're different."

Ymma nodded. She was not a Viking. She wan an Anglo-Saxon. Same gods with different names in their different languages, but she belonged to no banners. She was certain the only reason the townsfolk had not killed her for heresy was the fact that she was under the unofficial protection of the princess. "I'll be careful. I'm leaving soon, anyway. There have to be others who worship the old gods. I'll find them."

"Ah." Oswyth smiled and retracted. "The princess will definitely be looking to replace you, then." She looked at Ymma with wide, desperate blue eyes. "I'm fifteen. I can still learn, though. I learn fast."

Fifteen. The girl acted so much older, Ymma could hardly believe Oswyth was her younger by two years. When had she started selling herself. A brown-haired, blue-eyed, pretty thing, and the world had forced her to grow up too fast. "I was your age when I started working for her."

Oswyth sighed with relief, the news meaning that she might be welcomed as well.

"I'll talk to her. I promise."

"Thank you," Oswyth breathed. She furrowed her brow, clearly racking her brain for information, possibly to give as a gift to a new friend, if Ymma could suppose they were friends. Possibly to prove that she was worthy of the position. "They have two monks. One is old. The other...maybe twenty? At the most. He's got brown hair and green eyes and a handsome face."

"A handsome monk," Ymma mused. "That seems a waste."

Oswyth smiled, and she looked so young, almost innocent. "It is, isn't it? The captain is stodgy, though. Actually a man of honour, if you can believe men like that exist, which I don't." The innocence vanished. "But the soldiers are different. They pay and they talk. The brown-haired one named...Simon?" She nodded. "I think that was it. He talks a lot. Tell her that. He talks when he's happy. He's got a mean voice, but her talks." Oswyth sighed. "I wish I could tell her what he said."

Ymma smiled. "Thank you. I'll pass it on."

Oswyth nodded once more and grabbed her cloak. "I need to go. Night's here. I'll be working soon."

Ymma smiled. "Good luck." It felt wrong, saying that. As Oswyth walked away, Ymma turned her attention back to her bowl, which still had a bit of food left inside. She spooned a bit up and stuck it in her mouth.

It had gone cold.

* * *

_"Gods bless the man who gave us drink,_  
_What drowns us in its stink._  
_Gods bless the man who gave us ale,_  
_What keep through wind and hail."_

Hiccup gazed sleepily over the top of his ninth mug of ale as Finna and his father pulled themselves onto a table with the help of about fifty other chanting Vikings. Each was handed two pints.

He grinned. Finna had sworn that she would beat Stoick. But they were both having considerable trouble standing, which was not surprising as they had both been through at least thirty rounds each.

And Hiccup was having considerable trouble keeping his head up.

_"And now you boys, make proud your mother,_  
_With ale in one hand and ale in the other,_  
_Turn to your side and find your brother,_  
_Challenge him to drink!"_

Finna and Stoick immediately started in.

All around the room, Vikings broke into a loud, raucous chant of "Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"

Finna stumbled forward and had to stop drinking for a moment, and some cheered while others shouted encouragements as Stoick continued. Finna started drinking again.

Stoick switched to his second pint, and Finna was not far behind. She dropped the mug on the ground and spread her feet a bit wider as she chugged the ale.

The cheers grew louder and louder as it became clear that this would be a close match.

Suddenly, Finna stopped drinking and pulled the mug from her face and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Stoick pulled back a second later and a hush fell over the crowd.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Finna flashed her signature grin–wide and laughing and extremely self-satisfied–and tipped her second mug upside down to prove to all the world that it was empty.

Hiccup smiled. Well. She had won.

Stoick's bellowing guffaws filled the hall with a chorus of deafening cheers. All of it was topped by Finna's triumphant laughter as the crowd helped her down from the table.

Stoick shouted something incomprehensible.

Hiccup pressed his hands against the top of the table in front of him. He should probably head home. He would have a headache in the morning, he knew, but he wanted to get into the smithy as soon as possible, and he knew Toothless would hold a grudge for a week if he were to forget his morning flight. He pushed himself up and immediately sat back down. The spinning in his head told him that the best plan was to stay put.

Stoick's eyes rolled back in his head and he promptly fell backwards and hit the table with a loud thud.

Someone grabbed Hiccup's arm and he looked to his side. Finna stood there and slurred something he could understand only because of the situation.

"Yeah!" he shouted back over the loud noise. "I saw! You won!"

She nodded and sank into his father's chair as she was overcome with hysterical giggles. She lay sideways and draped her legs over the chair arm and leaned back so her head was upside down. She blubbered something else.

"Uh-huh." Why was the table so close to his face?

His forehead hit the table as Finna poked his arm. And then someone turned out the lights.

**And every major POV character has officially been introduced, even if that person has not had a chance at being a POV character just yet. I believe I have eight POV characters, but we've only been inside the heads of five of them. But, as I said, all have been introduced. Let's see if you can guess the remaining three. Goodness, I have a lot of OC's.**

**I wrote this whole chapter while listening to the Portal soundtracks. And, of course, "Still Alive" and "Want You Gone" several times, because those are delightful songs. Speaking of which, GLaDOS is probably my favourite character in game history. She's marv****elous. "Oh. Hi. So. How are you holding up? BECAUSE I'M A POTATO." "It's been a long time. How have you been? I've been **_**really**_** busy being dead. You know, after you MURDERED ME?"**

**Leave a review if it suits your fancy. Don't if it doesn't.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well...this took forever. But I also was in electricity-free zones off and on for two months, so...**

**Also, I almost double the word count with this chapter. Literally. I think I was two-hundred words off or something...But I have a section from every POV character, which explains the obnoxious length. Sorry about that...  
**

**Chapter 3: Twilight**

Hiccup sat up quickly. Too quickly. His vision went black for a moment, and as the world came into focus, he recognized that he was still in the Great Hall. And the earth was shaking.

Ragnarok?

No, just a hundred or so Vikings snoring heavily.

He looked to his side and noted that Finna was not where she had been earlier. Where had she gone? And when? He had always considered himself an early riser–once he was up, he was up–and the fact that someone was awake before he was, for the second time in two days, came as a surprise.

He pressed his hands against the table and pushed himself to a standing position. He did not have a headache, which was an incredible blessing, but he was a bit dizzy, and he felt as if he had just stepped off of a ship. The ground was far too stable under his feet.

He brought one hand up to his neck and rubbed at a sore spot. Maybe, if it were still dark out, he could get into his real bed and sleep for just a bit longer. He took a couple of steps toward the door.

Ooh, nauseous. "Easy..." he muttered. "Easy..." His tongue felt huge and heavy and dry in his mouth. He was so thirsty...He'd get water when he was home. Slowly, he picked his way around men and women sprawled on the floor and pushed one of the huge doors open.

He immediately regretted it. The sun was so bright. He guessed it was about midmorning, which meant three things. First, he would not be getting any more sleep. Second, his eyes were going to burn. Third, Toothless would not be happy.

He squinted against the sunlight and brought his hand to his brow to help shield the glare. As he walked back to his house at the top of the hill on the other side of the village, people called out greetings and he returned them with a short wave. The last few steps to his home felt like miles, but he finally reached his front door and pushed it open and stepped into the cool, quiet, wonderful darkness.

He sighed and shut the door behind him and slowly stumbled toward the table. After balancing himself and spreading his hand across the cool wood, he fumbled for and pulled out one of the chairs and lowered himself into the seat.

He had not been sitting two minutes when he heard the distinct sound of a Night Fury jumping through the upstairs window and hitting the floor above Hiccup's head.

Groaning, he dropped his head into his arms as he heard the dragon move across the floor and knock several things over. Something like metal striking wood filled his ears. Without looking up, Hiccup grumbled, "Toothless, don't climb on the walls. Dad hates coming home to your claw-marks in the wood, and I don't want to sand the boards down again." He sighed.

Damn dragon.

Something thudded near his ear.

He closed his eyes. "And stop jumping into the rafters. One of these days you'll tear this place apart." He rubbed at the back of his neck and yawned. "I'm just going to rest for a bit, then we can go. I promise."

Toothless chirped and gurgled happily and nudged Hiccup's side.

"Yeah. I know, Bud." He brought one hand out from under his head and reached out to scratch just under Toothless' chin. The dragon purred as Hiccup moved his hand around, searching for that one, special spot. After a minute, his fingers brushed over that place where the scales were just a bit softer, right next to the jaw. He scratched hard.

Toothless tensed immediately, and Hiccup smiled when he heard the great dragon crash to the floor. Just a few minutes of rest...

He almost fell out of the chair when Toothless nudged his side with a great amount of force. He sat up and looked down at his friend, who looked right back at him with slitted eyes.

"I should have expected you'd see through that."

Toothless nudged him with his nose again.

Hiccup rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Well, if you had kept that tail I made you, you wouldn't have to wait for me."

Toothless grabbed Hiccup's sleeve between his teeth.

Hiccup jerked his arm back. "In a minute, Toothless!" he cried in exasperation. "Just give me–"

Toothless clamped his teeth around Hiccup's metal foot and yanked. Hiccup flailed his arms as he slid to the side and landed on the floor his head banged the seat of the chair. "Dah! Ow...Toothless!"

The dragon continued dragging him across the floor.

"Wha–Let go of me!" Hiccup reached out and clawed at the floorboards, trying to find some sort of anchor.

Toothless unlatched and opened the door with his tail and kept pulling.

"Oh, no." He latched onto the door frame as Toothless yanked on his leg and backed down the steps. "Toothless, no." He felt his grip slipping. "No...No!" With one final tug on Toothless' part, his fingers slipped from the frame and he slid forward into the blinding light of day. Toothless dragged him down and the back of his head his the next step. "Ow." His head his the second step. "Ow." His head hit the third step. "Ow." He started grabbing at the steps when he remembered that the next level was the stone pathway. "Gah..." He tensed as his head left the last wooden step and fell to the ground. "_Ow_!"

Toothless released his hold and Hiccup squinted up at the sky as he lay sprawled on the ground. So much for not having a headache.

Toothless grumbled and nudged Hiccup's side again.

"Alright!" Hiccup sat up. "Alright, alright." He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He was never going to drink like that again. Ever again.

Except for maybe his wedding, when it was completely expected. Because that was definitely happening. His wedding.

He was getting married.

In four months.

To Astrid.

Did she know yet?

Oh, gods.

He suddenly needed to lie down again. But as he slowly sank back to the ground, Toothless came behind him and blocked his back with his head and pushed against him.

Hiccup sighed and wondered if he would ever have the time to process his near future. "Alright, Bud." He stood up and arched his back. "I'm coming." He felt Toothless push at his prosthetic and he fell over. "Hey!"

Toothless opened his jaws to bite at Hiccup's metal foot again, but the young man pulled back.

"No...I got it." He walked over to the dragon and knelt down to adjust the saddle straps. He had forgotten to take it off the day before, and it had slipped during the night. "You're so _needy_," Hiccup drawled. "If Toothless is unhappy, everyone's unhappy. Is that it?"

Toothless turned his head towards Hiccup and made a sort of laughing noise: deep and pharyngeal and barking and caustic. Hiccup mimicked the noise back at him and grinned.

He stood up and jumped into the saddle and clicked his metal foot into place. After adjusting the pedals and ensuring that everything was in working order, he leaned forward and patted Toothless on the head. "We'll have to take it easy, Bud. I'm not feeling so hot right n–ACK!"

Toothless shot into the sky at a pace a great deal faster than Hiccup had intended.

"Toothless! Slow–"

The dragon spun several times in the air and dove down.

"Oh, gods. I'm gonna be sick..." Hiccup supposed he finally understood at least somewhat how Astrid had felt on her first flight. He tightened his grip on the saddle and leaned forward.

He had made Toothless wait all morning, and he knew the Night Fury would make him sorry. The awful and unmistakable symptoms of a hangover would wear off eventually. He might as well attempt to enjoy the ride, which would not be easy with his stomach threatening to spill out of his mouth.

* * *

"In nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."

Jehan opened his eyes and waited for the Captain to take bread and water first, as was polite. It was entirely uncustomary to take bread in the morning, but the Captain had mentioned eating with Jehan and Brother Martinus, and as the older monk had pointed out, who were they to refuse him? So the Brother had invited the Captain to the small room the two men shared, to dine at their small table. They did not have much to offer, but the Captain was gracious.

"I must thank you for letting me partake in your fast breaking."

Brother Martinus inclined his head. "You share with us your food. It is only right, then, that we share our company if you desire it."

"I do appreciate your company," the Captain said. "The calm and peace here is much welcomed. I do admit that I tire of the company of my men. Mere boys, they are. Conscripts and young volunteers who have no concept of the terrors of battle. They wish for excitement. They do not know what they ask."

Jehan did not feel that war was a pleasant topic while eating, but he remained silent. He knew he had a tendency to speak before thinking of how his words would be received, and he had recently been trying to work on that small flaw.

"I have informed His Grace," the Captain mentioned, "and he agrees, that the Vikings would be better allies than enemies." He broke his piece of bread. "They are powerful."

Jehan wished he could see them, the powerful Vikings to the North. The ones to the West were lean and rarely seen. But he had heard rumours of giant ships and men who rode powerful dragons. Stories of massive temples and mighty seas and towering mountains. Talk of God's creation–imposing and incredible. As much as he wanted to share the word of God, he wanted to see those things more, and he was increibly disappointed that he would not be.

He tore off a part of the loaf of bread and poured himself some water.

He had been preparing that morning, packing three books that had been given to him upon becoming a novice, when word had come that the company would not be traveling further.

"Perhaps, then, we might be able to bring the Good News to the lost by way of treaty," Brother Martinus, ever the evangelist, offered.

The Captain nodded slowly. "Yes, it is my desire as well. Besides, we must take a stand in England and Scotland and quell all rebellions before we can think of how to proceed." He took a bite of his bread, chewed, and swallowed. "If we lose our political footing, we loose all ability to move forward with God."

"I always thought that the Lord meant us to carry the message into all the world, in spire of political backing or stability."

Both men looked at Jehan, and after a moment he realized that the words had come from his mouth. Embarrassed, then, and slightly disconcerted under to chastising gaze of Brother Martinus, he decided he might clear up what he had just said. "I mean...I always supposed that He provides stability and safety, not the powers of men." Perhaps...not the best phrasing.

Brother Martinus leaned over, "Show respect." He looked at the Captain. "I do apologize. He is but a novice."

The Captain waved his hand and smiled slightly, a marked improvement in his typically dour appearance. The small grin made him almost handsome. "It is quite alright. It has been a while since I last spoke with a young man who had a good head on his shoulders and could speak for himself." He folded his hands on the tale. "Tell me, Novice Jehan, do you believe war can be used as God's tool?" He cocked his head to the side. "A controversial and theological question, I understand."

Jehan thought for a moment and chose his next words carefully. "I believe He commanded his people into battle, but I also believe that the coming of Christ renders battle useless." He glanced at Brother Martinus, who nodded with pride. "All efforts should be focused on love and peace." When Brother Martinus raised his eyebrows, he added, "Sieur. If I'm not overstepping myself."

The Captain hummed softly. "And is that why you took this mission? To spread love and peace?"

Jehan nodded. He saw no reason to lie to the Captain. He was a good man, stoic and set in the ways of knighthood and valour, but good. "And to learn about the world, Sieur. Knowledge."

The Captain shook his head. "Wisdom, my boy. Knowledge can be learned from books, but wisdom is gained only with experience." He took a long draught of water. "Peace and wisdom are worthy pursuits. Do you read much?"

"He pours over everything he can find," Brother Martinus said with a broad smile. "He is very bright."

"How I wish my men were like you, Novice Jehan. Have you been learning about this country?"

Jehan bowed his head. "I have walked in the village, but...I wish to know the language, Sieur. I cannot speak it."

The Captain smiled. "I have managed to acquire some tomes in the Anglo-Saxon tongue, particularly some books of the Bible. You may help yourself to them, if you like."

Jehan took a sharp breath. The Bible. He and Brother Martinus had brought from the abbey three epistles of the apostle John, as well as his gospel, one of Paul's epistles to Corinth, and the Acts of the Apostles. He could learn by comparison. "I am deeply grateful, Sieur."

"Perhaps we could send you to learn the language of the Norsemen on the islands to the west of us." The Captain picked up his cup. "You could act as an emissary of the King and of the Lord."

Jehan looked down at his hands. He wished he could be with the Norsemen beyond Scotland, beyond Albion. He knew the chief of the Vikings to the West had made an arrangement after their arrival: the Norsemen would not attack if they and the town were left alone. He had caught glimpses of them. A slim people who blended with the trees when they were not conversing cheerily with the people in the nearby town. Whenever he or anyone else got close, though, they disappeared, seemingly far more content to watch from the shadows of the wood.

He suspected that they did not trust the Captain, even though he had honoured the agreement, and that they waited, ready to defend themselves and the village.

"That would indeed be a great honour," Brother Martinus said.

But the North...Those were men with ships and command of the seas, men whose trade routes were said to expand even further west than Byzantium, even further south than the Moorish lands in Iberia. They were men with knowledge of the world, more knowledge than all of that held in Rome. But they were great for another reason, a reason that made his blood run hot and cold at the same time. Those men had conquered dragons.

"I have been looking for someone to stay by my side when we go," the Captain replied. "If he is willing, I am quite serious about this. He is levelheaded and willing, I think."

"He will not disappoint, I'm sure."

What sort of might did those men have? What sort of great strength could possibly subdue the powerful beasts of legend?

The North...They should have started moving that morning. He had even packed what few possessions he had.

"You seem distant, Novice Jehan," the Captain said.

Jehan looked up at him. "Oh, no, Sieur." He took a deep breath. "I just...I thought today we'd be headed north to the Norsemen above, yet we're still here."

Brother Martinus leaned across the table. "Forgive him. As he says, he wishes to travel and know."

"There is naught to forgive," the Captain answered with a shake of his head. "Disappointment is a hard blow to bear, especially for one so young." He looked at Jehan with a kind smile, and the young man started to imagine the Captain at home. He was a man, hair greyed and smile soft, who should be at home with a grandson on his knee, not fighting a war. "To answer your concerns, I received word at daybreak that a different convoy will be headed north. They are taking their own ships from England, which will save a good deal of time. These men will negotiate a peace treaty with the Northern tribes, specifically with the tribe from which the dragon tamer hails. Only after these negotiations have been made will we as a company travel to speak with the dragon tamer himself and learn from him. And after we have captured our own dragons, of course." He looked at Brother Martinus. "That is when the two of you will bring the gospel to the heathens."

The dragon tamer. He was said to have bone-crushing strength and the ferocity of a lion. "We know where he lives?" Jehan asked, his heart pounding in excitement.

"It is rumoured to be a small place, an island of little consequence." The Captain nodded. "Yes, essentially we do."

"Why do we need the dragons so desperately?"

"Strength and power," the Captain answered. "There is peace in respect, and respect is gained through power."

Jehan bit his lip to keep from saying something he would regret. Christ had gained respect not through power, but through kindness and love. Then again, kindness and love had so upset the world that He had acquired many enemies as well. But power also came with enemies. Jehan, for his part, could not see an advantage to power beyond the petty concerns of kings and principalities of men. "I see."

Brother Martinus quickly asked, "Do you have a family, Sieur?"

Jehan was grateful that the older man had the wisdom to change the subject, else the conversation would have led someplace that would have landed Jehan in trouble.

"I have two daughters with my first wife," the Captain answered. "They are the joy of my life. My second wife–"

But Jehan was not to hear about the Captain's second wife, for a shout interrupted him.

"They're back!"

"They've got one!"

The Captain stood abruptly. "Please, excuse the interruption." He strode from the room.

The outburst could mean only one thing: the small group of soldiers sent to capture a dragon weeks before had finally returned.

The young novice looked at his mentor, and the older man nodded and rose with seemingly as much excitement as Jehan felt.

They hurried after the Captain. Jehan had heard stories of dragons from travellers who had stayed at the abbey. All stories, of course. As civilization, and particularly Rome, has moved across the land, man had pushed the dragons further west and further north. Not until arriving in England so many months before had he seen a dragon. There were a few to the South, all different colours and small like cats, but the larger ones dwelt in places unconqured by great empires. That was why they had come so far north, so far beyond the reach of His Grace, King Williame, and so far beyond the extension of the Roman Empire and Hadrian's Wall, so close to the Antonine Wall. Though large dragons were scarce in Scotland, they did exist.

He had heard tales of the dragons even further north, the dragons that the Vikings had tamed. He had heard that they were massive.

He wanted to see a large dragon. Here was a chance.

The Captain opened the door that led into the courtyard and the small party stepped into sunlight just as a large cart pulled by eight oxen trudged through the gates.

On the back of the cart sat what appeared to be a shaking and breathing box covered in a large canvas sail. A cheer rose from all the soldiers stationed in the yard, and more appeared from the makeshift barracks to join in the revelry.

Jehan saw Simon nudge another soldier and make a comment while gesturing toward the cart. Both men laughed.

The man driving the cart pulled a set of reins and the oxen stopped. He jumped off the seat and approached the captain as the men accompanying the cart came to a halt.

"I thought you would have moved out by now, Sieur."

The Captain shook his head. "There has been a change of plans. Another company will be attempting negotiations with the Norsemen." He looked at the cart. "Let's see it, then."

"Yes, Sieur." The man turned to the small squardon around the cart. "Off with it."

The men turned and, as one, yanked away the large, canvas sail.

Jehan held his breath as his eyes took in the sight.

An enormous, green beast was held in a cage that rattled with each movement the dragon made. His huge claws scratched and pulled at the metal bars and smoke flared from his nostrils. Giant, yellow eyes scanned the crowd, as if the dragon were looking for his first meal, and a long tail with spines to match the dragon's head whipped out of the cage.

The men started cheering, and Jehan could swear he heard a familiar voice call, "Not so powerful now, is he?"

Here was a dragon. A creature the size of three horses, at least. A mighty beast, trapped in a prison.

Suddenly, the whole affair seemed sad. Jehan began to feel sick as he inspected the dragon closer. Its wings were not tucked because it could not take flight, but because they were pressed to its side by the close bars. Part of the wing webbing was trapped under the dragon's foot. Its head was bent uncomfortably low because the ceiling of the cage pressed upon its neck. The muffled bellows and growls were not those of aggression, but those of fear and pain. And the screams were muffled because of a great strap of leather wrapped and secured around the head to prevent the dragon from releasing flame.

Jehan did not care that the dragons were representations of the Enemy of the Lord. He did not care that the mouth of a dragon was the rumoured doorway to the Lake of Fire. He knew only one thing in that moment.

"This is wrong," he murmured.

The Enemy could not create, only the Lord could. And until the Enemy became a dragon, all creatures were God's creatures.

The Norsemen had tamed dragons. Whether they had befriended them or conquered them remained up to the storyteller's interpretation. Jehan, however, however found himself hoping that the former had happened. That one could befriend a dragon as one could a horse or dog.

"This is wrong," he repeated.

But he knew there was naught he could say. He would be crazy to suggest showing kindness to a creature so reviled and feared. Nevertheless, he wondered if there were someone that crazy in the world, someone with the insanity to show kindness to and to make friends with a dragon.

* * *

Astrid knelt down next to the board and scooped a few juniper berries from her bowl. The sun was getting higher and warmer, and it was just hot enough to lay out the berries again. With the palm of her hand, she pushed them around so they were separated and then pulled a few more from the bowl.

She yawned and opened her eyes wide, trying to get rid of the tiredness. She had hardly slept the night before due to the excitement from the day before.

Married.

She grinned sleepily and dumped the remaining berries on the board and pushed them around a bit.

Married.

Just before the winter.

Gods, it was a strange thought.

She dropped the bowl and grabbed the cloth screen and placed it over the board and stood up. She reached toward the sky and arched her back.

When would the _handsal_ be made? A few days? Most likely after the last of the visitors had gone and Stoick and Hiccup did not have to play host any longer. Maybe then. Knowing Hiccup, he would probably get so nervous he'd stumble over a few of the words. Would that mess things up? Would getting something wrong make the vow void? It did not matter. She would marry him anyway.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a very distinct and inhuman scream–a scream she knew just as well as she knew the one who made it and almost as well as the one who rode him.

Astrid looked to the sky just as a black spot rushed by, gone in an instant. She smiled and sighed. Years ago she had promised herself, but it was no longer a promise. It was a fact.

She was going to marry that man.

"Good mornin'."

Astrid jumped and turned around and saw the last person she would ever have expected. Curves in all the right places, beautiful face turned upward, smile wide and laughing, brown eyes watching where the streak of black had gone.

She found herself too shocked to respond. When had Finna arrived? Astrid was quite unused to people's sneaking up behind her, and the fact that Hiccup's dear old friend had been the first in years to do so made her feel incredibly uncomfortable in a way she had not felt since the dragon raids.

Finna looked at her and grinned. "Back home, we say tha' ye can always tell how a man is in th' sack by lookin' at how 'e rides his horse." She looked back up pensively. "Ah wonder if th' same can be said abit a man an' his dragon."

"I wouldn't know." Astrid bent down and picked up the wooden bowl she had dropped. The comment irked her. It was not Finna's place to wonder. It was _hers_, and hers alone.

Finna laughed merrily. "Ay course nae. but findin' out is jist one mawr thin' ye can look forward tae."

Astrid decided that she did not like Finna's laugh. It was too high and merry and sounded too much like bells. Annoying, high, cheerful bells. "Did you need something?" she asked harshly.

Finna held up her hands and raised her eyebrows, obviously taken aback by Astrid's tone. "Ah jist want tae talk," she assured her.

Astrid narrowed her eyebrows. That made one of them. "Talk."

Finna shrugged. "Ah've bin hearin' yer name fur years, an' Ah jist want tae ken if everythin' Ah've heard is true." She smiled sweetly. "Ah'm jist curious. Ah've ne'er bin tae Berk afair, an' Ah'm interested in th' folk an' th' places...can't blame me fur tha' can ye?"

Astrid shifted her weight. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge. It would not have been the first time she had made a mistake about a person. "I suppose not." Hiccup clearly trusted Finna. Astrid decided it should be enough reason to trust her as well.

"An' Ah wanted tae congratulate ye," Finna continued.

"On?"

"Yer approachin' marriage, ay course," the brunette woman replied.

Astrid smiled. "Hiccup told you."

Finna put her hands on her hips. "Nae, he's probably afraid ay whit Ah might say." She laughed. "Nae tha' Ah blame 'im! Ah'll be th' first tae admit tha' Ah'll make fun ay anyone fur anythin'! Ah figured out it in mah own ways." She met Astrid's gaze and held it and said in a deeper tone, "Naethin' goes oan in thes world without mah knowin' abit it."

Astrid did not like the way she said the last bit, all dark as if it were some sort of threat. "You didn't know what the dragon was called," she pointed out. "The one he killed." She did not know why she said it. She just needed to challenge the other woman, to prove she knew something Finna did not.

Finna waved her hand. "Wee details get lost. But everythin' important...it was huge. Th' size ay a wee island. It was controllin' awl th' others, an' once it died, th' dragons stopped raidin'." She held out her arms. "Enormous wing span, an' he took it down frae th' inside wi' fire." She smiled slightly. "Nae one had e'er thought ay tha'. It was clever."

"Yes." Astrid mentally slapped herself. She was getting petty. "He's very clever." Only a few seconds before she had decided to trust Finna on Hiccup's judgement. She decided she should at least try to befriend her.

"He always 'as bin," Finna agreed.

Astrid did not like that. It sounded like Finna was implying that she had known Hiccup longer, that she knew him better. She took a deep breath. Of course, Finna probably had not meant it that way. Astrid supposed she was being overly territorial. "You've been his friend for a long time."

"Awl 'is life."

There it was again. That feeling of being threatened in a way she did not quite understand, that feeling of being put down in a very underhanded way. Astrid did not want to talk anymore. Finna made her very uncomfortable. "I should get back to–"

"Can Ah ask ye somethin'?" Finna interrupted.

Astrid nodded.

Finna cocked her head to the side and brushed her hair back. "Whit dae ye see in 'im?"

She furrowed her brow. Strange question. It was one that would normally be discussed between close friends, not strangers. "You're the one who's been his friend all his life."

Finna rolled her eyes. "Ah ken whit _Ah_ see. Ah'm askin' abit _ye_."

Astrid took a deep breath. "I see..." She shrugged. "_Hiccup_. I see him for who he is. I see–"

"Funny tha' ye didnae see it afair," Finna commented dryly with a small smirk.

Astrid took a step back. "Wha–"

"Nae too lang ago, Ah was one ay th' only ones fa actually saw 'im," the other girl mused in a very nonchalant voice that Astrid refused to believe. "While th' rest ay th' world thought 'e was useless...his tribe, his own faither...Ah was one ay his only friends."

Astrid had not been named, but she understood the implication. Only an idiot would have missed it. Forget trust and trying to befriend. She decided that if Finna wanted to be underhanded, she could. She would match her. She could be underhanded. "Things have changed. He has friends _here_." There. Imply that he did not need Finna anymore. "He's respected. He's a hero and–"

"Och, aye," Finna said sweetly as she met Astrid's gaze. "How fortunate fur ye."

Astrid narrowed her eyes. Finna could say whatever she wanted about those four years; Astrid would not deny any of it. She _could_ not deny any of it. But she would never tolerate the implication that she had taken advantage of his status, not when it was not even true. "It didn't happen that way," she stated. Underhanded was not really her style, anyway.

"Didnae it?" Finna asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Astrid mimicked the pose and spread her feet. She was mentally and physically prepared to fight, to intimidate. She knew how to attack–attacking was her specialty. "You don't know me. You don't know the first thing about me."

Finna grinned and leaned in. "Och, nae, Astrid Hofferson. As Ah've said, Ah've always bin friends wi' Hiccup. Ah ken _everythin_' abit ye."

Astrid lifted her chin. "Really?" Her heart began pounding when Finna uncrossed her arms. In Astrid's experience, releasing a guarded stance meant only one thing–Finna thought she had some sort of advantage; she thought she could win.

The other woman held up a finger. "Ah ken tha' ye prefer tae face things head-on, as ye are right now." She held up a second finger, ticking off as she spoke. "Ah ken ye prefer things said plainly, tha' ye prefer tae make yer thoughts perfectly clear. Ah ken tha' when ye were eight, ye climbed yer first tree. Ye ne'er had afair coz ye were afraid ay heights, but _he_ taught ye how. Ye stopped bein' afraid 'at day. As ye were climbin' down, ye fell oan top ay him an' scraped yer hands." She looked down at three raised fingers and then looked at Astrid. "Did Ah get anythin' wrang?"

Astrid wanted to ask how Finna knew, but the answer was obvious. Hiccup. "No."

Finna nodded and held up a fourth finger. "Ah ken tha' when ye were nine yer brother...eh...Grimefoot, right?" She shrugged, and Astrid wanted to scream at how wrong it was that Finna knew who her family was. "Anyway, he started showin' ye how tae flin' an axe. Ye waur awlready fine at wieldin' them, an' he had decided tha' ye had graduated." She chuckled. "When ye threw fur th' first time, Stoick jist sae happened tae be walkin' by, an' ye nearly took his head clean off. But ye quickly got better."

It was wrong. Not wrong that Hiccup had obviously told stories and memories, and it was not wrong that he had told Finna, but it was incredibly wrong that Finna _knew_. It was wrong that she knew and probably knew so much more. "Stop it."

Finna raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Why? Coz Ah'm right? Coz Ah ken sae much abit ye an' ye ken absolutely naethin' abit me?"

Astrid ground her teeth and said nothing. Finna was perfectly right. Astrid had learned from her brothers that she should always know more about her opponents than her opponents knew about her. That was why she studied dragons before going into the ring, why she had read the book cover to cover multiple times, memorizing basic tactics and common maneuvers. Never had she been in the position of the enemy, having to guess at the attacker while the attacker had so much knowledge. She felt truly scared. She was trapped in a fight with no understanding of where it could possibly lead or how she could possibly win.

Finna held out her thumb. "When ye waur ten, ye stopped hangin' aroond heem. ye finally figured it 'at he woods hae held ye back frae becomin' th' greatest dragon fighter ay yer age, 'at he micht hae tarnished yer reputation."

"Stop it," she repeated with more force. Hiccup would not have known that. He should not have known that. Maybe he had figured, but she would never had said such a thing to _anyone_. She had never mentioned him, and if anyone had ever brought up how they had used to always be together, she would just shrug and say they had grown apart, which was mostly true, since she had embarked on the path of a dragon fighter and he had started working with Gobber. Very different trades, very different circles. No one else had ever questioned it. _Hiccup_ had never questioned it. So how did Finna know her every thought? It was _wrong_.

"Ye probably ne'er said a kind word tae him," Finna added. "Probably ne'er said anythin' beyond askin' 'im tae dae a bit ay smithin' fur ye. Did ye e'en see 'im as human?"

She balled her hands into fists at her side. "Stop it!" How would she know that the first time they had spoken in years had been when Astrid had asked Hiccup to sharpen an axe? Hiccup had not left the island since then. She could not know. She could _not_.

"Did ye e'en ken whit he _looked_ like?" Finna asked.

Astrid's eyes widened. How? How could she possibly suspect that until three years before Astrid had not even known what colour his eyes were? She figured that a rabbit caught in a trap must have felt the way she felt at that moment. No way to deny that she had almost completely forgotten his existence. How did Finna know her insecurities, things she still felt guilt for? How did she know so much personal information she could use in an attack? And how in Hel had Finna attacked with so much precision that Astrid could do absolutely nothing?

Finna scoffed. "Ye didnae, did ye?" She smiled sardonically as a fire burned in her brown eyes. "But e'en when nae one cared abit 'im, he still cared abit everyone else. Ye barely noticed 'im, but he noticed _ye_," she said with a sneer.

Astrid felt her shoulders relax slightly as realization washed over her. She was not losing at all. She was _winning_. In fact, she had already won. She had won a war she had not even realized she had been fighting. And Finna was furious about it, furious that a girl who had ignored him had won while she had been his friend all along. In a fair and perfect world, it would have been Finna marrying him, it _should_ have been Finna marrying him. But the gods were not fair and perfect, and that was precisely why they were gods. They chose the ones they favoured, and in that situation they had very clearly favoured Astrid. But she would never pity Finna for it. She would never pity her for losing. "You said he talks about me."

Finna rolled her eyes. "Ay co–"

"But he never mentions _you_."

Finna shrugged the jab off. "Sae yoo've ne'er heard ay me. Yoo've probably ne'er heard ay Camicazi or Tantrum or anyone in his life away frae Berk." She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. "Sae, may Ah ask, how much dae ye really ken abit 'im?"

"Enough," Astrid snapped. "And you realize that's all you are and all you'll ever be: his life away from Berk. And by tomorrow, you will be gone, _away_, with your tribe, and I will be _here_. With Hiccup." It was cruel, she knew, dancing on a victory and rubbing the truth in Finna's wounds, but she did not care. Her situation, her victory, was completely secure, and no matter how hard this girl tried, she would never take him. "Getting ready for my marriage. _To_ Hiccup. And you will be one more person that he knows. Just a girl away from his home and his family and his _wife_."

"Ye think Ah dornt realize tha'?" Finna asked with a slight break in her voice.

Astrid shrugged. "I just thought I should make myself 'perfectly clear.'"

Finna stepped forward and bent over slightly so that their noses were almost touching. "Then allow me th' privilege ay makin' _myself_ 'perfectly clear,'" she hissed. "Yoo're smart, an' yoo've figured out some things. But let me tell ye tha' Ah am extremely loyal, an' if ye e'er hurt 'im, Ah will personally–"

"Astrid?"

She knew that voice. That nasal mumble that made her feel like laughing. And everything else suddenly seemed like nothing when she thought about that voice.

Oh, gods...She was going to marry him. She was going to wake up to that nasal mumble every day. In light of that wonderful, marvelous fact, Finna meant absolutely nothing to her. "Hiccup!"

He rounded the corner of the house and flashed that crooked grin–she was going to wake up to that crooked grin every day. His face was slightly red, wind-chapped from flying, and he was preoccupied with combing his fingers through his hair–she was going to be able to run her hands through that hair every day. "Your mom said you'd be..." He stopped upon seeing Finna, who had her back to him and was looking at Astrid with a very confused expression. "Oh, hey!" he said cheerfully.

Finna smiled wide before turning around to face him. "Hello!"

Astrid grinned back at him. Gods, he was right _there _and she knew about the wedding and she could not figure out what Finna's expression had meant but it did not matter because she was marrying that man and his nasal mumble and crooked smile and bright green eyes and thick hair and calloused fingers and awkwardness and sheer brilliance...Sweet Freyja. All those wonderful, lovely things that she really liked rolled up into one man that she truly _loved_.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Finna gestured between herself and Astrid. "We were jist talkin'."

Astrid suddenly noticed his eyes were red and that he had shadows just beneath his eyes and that he still had not shaved. "Long night, Hiccup?" she teased gently.

He rolled his big, bright green eyes. "Ugh. I don't even want to talk about it..."

Finna laughed. "Ye didnae e'en hae tha' much!" She turned to Astrid and jerked her thumb toward Hiccup. "Hae ye e'er seen 'im drink?"

"I'm right here," Hiccup grumbled as he crossed his arms and twisted his face into a scowl.

Astrid found Finna's sudden change incredibly disturbing, jumping from nearly threatening her to being her best friend in a matter of seconds. A person should not be able to change so quickly. But if Finna wanted to play it that way, fine. She could play it that way. "I know!" She grinned back and held the other girl's gaze. "He can't hold anything!"

Finna lifted her eyebrows slightly as an understanding passed between the two of them: Hiccup's presence had not called a round of peace. The contest for whomever knew him better continued.

"Ah mean, he's gotten better. When we were yoonger, he cooldnae e'en take mead! He'd pass out o'er a single mug!"

Hiccup threw his hands in the air. "Alright, sure. Let's all start making fun of me now..."

Astrid faked a small laugh. "You don't have to tell me! When he was still recovering from his leg and all, we'd only have to give him a little and he'd be sleeping like a baby!" There. Finna might have known him years ago, but that was a part of his life to which only Astrid had been privy.

"Am I the only one who doesn't find this amusing?" he asked.

Finna put her hands on her hip. "Doesnae surprise me in th' least."

Hiccup groaned. "I'm starting to seriously regret your meeting each other..."

Astrid smiled widely at Finna and Finna smiled back at her. Oh, he had no idea.

Finna turned to face Hiccup. "Astrid was jist offerin' tae take me oan a tour ay th' island."

Astrid kept that smile plastered to her face. No. No she had not.

Hiccup's face brightened, and the dark circles under his eyes nearly vanished. "That's a great idea! We should all go!"

Well, she would certainly have to work to keep her cool while Finna was around, and she honestly would have preferred being alone with him, but spending time with Hiccup was spending time with Hiccup. She was not going complain.

"An' Ah'd love tae learn tae fly a dragon too!"

Astrid sucked in a quick breath. Finna had just changed the rules of the game.

Hiccup nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I just unsaddled Toothless, but I'll get him ready. You can ride with me."

No, she could not. That was Astrid's place. It always had been, since her very first flight. No one else ever rode behind him on Toothless. Only she did, and that was only when Stormfly could not fly for whatever reason. And the fact that she was completely certain that Hiccup belonged to her until death did not mean that she had to be completely understanding when some other woman had her arms around him while they flew through the sky.

Not at all.

"He's not too tired?" Astrid asked. Toothless had just been out, she had seen him, so it was not an illogical question.

Hiccup chuckled. "Believe me. I owe it to him." He turned around and started walking away.

"Wait!" Astrid ran and caught up with him before grabbing his arm and jumping in his path.

He looked at her and smiled his crooked smile and her stomach clenched pleasantly.

She wanted to tell him that she knew, that she was _happy_. She wanted to be sure he knew. But it was not the right time, so instead she asked, "Can we talk later? Just us?"

Confusion swam in his green eyes. "Um...sure?" he said, as if she had asked the most ridiculous question in the world. Which she had. The two of them talked alone all the time.

She wanted to kick herself for being so awkward.

They'd make a great pair. A wonderfully awkward pair.

She slid her hand down his arm and laced their fingers together. "Good."

He laughed slightly and leaned forward and kissed her lightly.

Ooh...she _liked_ kissing him.

He pulled back. "See you in a bit."

She watched him go and smiled. She loved him. She really did. No one would ever be able to separate them or challenge that fact.

No one.

Astrid turned back around and put her hands on her hips. "You were saying something about hurting him?"

Finna had that strange, confused expression on her face. "Ye love 'im," she stated quietly.

"Of course I do," Astrid replied as she lifted her chin.

The other woman shook her head. "Ah ne'er thought tha' ye might..."

"Maybe some things in this world do slip your notice," she sneered. "Something about hurting him?"

Finna took a deep breath before saying, "Ah'm nae yer enemy, Astrid Hofferson."

Like Hel. "Yes, you are."

Finna shrugged. "If ye like." She furrowed her brow. "But Ah'm nae th' one ye shoolds be worried abit." Then she walked past Astrid to follow Hiccup.

What was that supposed to mean? She was not the enemy? She was a self-important, manipulative bitch. She was not the one Astrid should be worried about? Even if she had absolutely no claim to Hiccup, Astrid would worry about her until she left because Finna was going to drive her insane.

She started jogging to catch up with Hiccup and Finna.

But if Finna was not the one she should worry about, who was?

Astrid took a deep breath and resolved that she would ask Hiccup about what had happened in the meeting as soon as she got him alone.

Well, maybe not _as soon as_, since there was obviously a much more pressing and happy matter to attend to first, but she would ask him.

* * *

Stoick made his decision in a moment.

It was a risky one, but the only decision that could possibly earn a victory over the enemy. One move would seal his fate if the enemy noted the situation, but if the gods were in his favour and cast a veil of blindness upon his opponent, he could use that one move to his advantage.

But the gods did not favour.

"That was not smart," Gobber noted with no small measure of satisfaction.

"It was all I could think to do," Stoick admitted in defeat.

Gobber simply grinned and moved his final piece so that Stoick's king was surrounded and captured. "I believe this game is mine."

"Just like every other one," Stoick agreed.

Gobber began setting up the board with all the pieces. "Play again? You might win this time."

Stoick shook his head. "I'd rather spare myself the embarrassment." He heard a scream overhead and looked up to the skies. A Night Fury, closely followed by a Deadly Nadder, raced through the sky. He sighed heavily. "The poor kids."

"They're not kids," Gobber pointed out as he continued to set up the board.

"I know," Stoick said, "but, I just...I feel like we just got out of a war."

"We did." Gobber set up the final piece and made his first move. "Your turn."

"I told you, I don't want to play again." Stoick looked back up. They had just left one war, he had meant. Thanks to his son, one war had ended, but another was just on the horizon. "I wish I could spare them a lifetime of fighting, you know? Hiccup finally has some peace in his life, and I just wish he could enjoy it."

"Take it up with the gods, then," Gobber said. "Your move."

"I don't..." Stoick sighed and moved a piece at random. "He's a good kid."

"Man," Gobber corrected as he made his own move.

"Right. Man." Stoick pushed one of his pawns out. "He's smart too. He'll be a good leader. I just wish it could be easy for him."

"You planning to leave him in charge of the war?" Gobber joked. He took Stoick's pawn.

Stoick shrugged. "It seems Berk will never be at peace for long. I'm definitely planning on making him part of it. He has to learn how to fight people."

"He'll get it," Gobber assured him.

They played a few more moves before Stoick agreed, "He's smart."

"He gets it from his father." Gobber grinned as he took one of Stoick's five remaining pieces, leaving the chief's king completely undefended and surrounded on three sides. "Remember what my father used to say? 'There's as much smart in Stoick's head as there is fire in flint. You just have to knock the flint to get the flame.'"

Stoick groaned as he looked at the board. "I'm not feeling so smart right now."

"Well, your son's the only one who's ever bested me," Gobber bragged. "And it only happened once." He moved his piece to take the fourth adjacent square to Stoick's king. "Play again?"

* * *

Ymma popped a raspberry into her mouth and smiled as the sweetness invaded her senses.

She had always hated summer. The days dragged on, the heat was sometimes unbearable, and pests swarmed in every corner. Years ago her mother had died from the summer; first the fever and the headache, then the spots and delirium and terrible thirst as the disease had burned through her body before the gods had finally taken her.

Ymma looked at the three remaining raspberries in her hand and leaned back against the great yew. Wild berries were probably the only decent thing that came with warmer weather. She usually traveled in the summer, moving from place to place and never staying longer than a month.

Or she had once upon a time.

"Two years..." Ymma murmured before biting into another raspberry. It was the longest she had ever stayed in one location since her mother's death. She had been nine at the time, and since there was nothing to be done for orphans, particularly the orphans of those deemed "pagans," there was nothing to do but move on.

And so she had moved on for six years, making her way from a small coastal village in England and up to the top of Scotland. She stayed close to the sea, for she knew that she would find traders: Viking traders. Her mother had always said that the Vikings were their friends. The rest of the people lived in fear of them due to the stories from the days of pillaging, but Ymma's mother claimed they offered them a sort of camaraderie.

The same gods with different names.

The rest of the Anglo-Saxons had abandoned the old gods and had turned to the Christian one centuries before, but her mother had always claimed that the people still feared and needed the gods. They had come to her for remedies their apothecaries did not know, for charms and incantations the Christian God did not provide. And her mother would laugh at the people's inability decide whom they should worship and would dispense her knowledge of the old ways for a coin.

She had passed her knowledge to Ymma before her death, and she had passed a secret.

"There are others like us," she had murmured one night, though Ymma had not been sure if her mother had been sane or if the delirium were talking. "There are others who stayed true to the old gods. They are north, among the Gaels and the Scots...You will be safe with them."

Ymma had simply nodded as she looked at the rose-coloured spots on her mother's chest.

Her mother had grabbed her hand. "Find them. Promise me."

Ymma had nodded again.

Her mother had leaned back on her pallet, clearly satisfied, and had begun muttering to herself and picking at the strings in her blanket.

"I'm getting you some water," Ymma had said quietly, though her mother had only continued to mutter and hum and pull at loose threads. And when Ymma had come back with the wooden bucket filled with cool water form the nearby stream, her mother had stopped breathing.

A fly buzzed by her ear and she swatted it away and popped the last two berries into her mouth. Bugs multiplied in the summer–yet another reason to hate the season. She sucked the red juice off her palm and wiped her hands against her skirt. Summer also brought back memories upon which she would rather not dwell.

She decided she should walk to the village and pick up whatever she could. Finding random and seemingly useless bits of information was certainly preferable to reminiscing about what she could not change.

"Nothing is useless," she reminded herself as she started walking.

Finna always said that. She always said that every bit of information could be used. Some things simply told one more about people–what they liked, what they wanted–and from that one could deduce even more–what they hated, what they feared, what they hoped people would never discover. Finna said everyone had something to hide, and that if a man were reluctant in giving information one only had to remind him of his secret and he would tell everything he knew. Sometimes, the secrets were not even necessary. Bluffs were easy, and most people did not catch on.

All a person needed to know was how everyone else thought.

Ymma heard a a twig snap behind her and she wheeled around and brought a hand to the small dagger she always carried at her waist. She saw no one on the road and knew the noise could have easily been caused by a small animal, but she did not lower her guard. One of the first things Finna had taught her was that she should always expect danger.

Only when a small, brown rabbit scampered across the path did she sigh and lower the blade.

"Och, that's a big one," a deep voice said behind her.

Ymma tightened her grip on the knife and spun around quickly and almost lunged forward to attack, but she stopped upon seeing the iron tip of an arrow pointed at a spot between her eyes. She took a deep, steady breath. "I could have killed you," she said in Norse.

"Ah think we both ken Ah coolds hae shot thes afair ye took another step."

She pursed her lips.

"Ye still hae a lot tae learn, Ymma."

Her eyes followed the shaft of the arrow to leather-bound fingers that held the end in place against the string. And next to the fingers and knocked arrow were dark eyes that shined with the fact that the owner loved nothing so much as a good joke.

"Put down th' knife, an' Ah'll put down th' bow."

She smiled. "You _are_ afraid of me."

The man snorted. "No, Ah jist dornt trust tha' ye wouldnae try anythin'. Ah'd hate explainin' tae Finna why Ah had tae kill 'er favourite little spy."

Ymma put her knife back in the sheath at her belt. "After everything we'e been through, Rust?"

The man lowered his own weapon and relaxed the string on the bow. "Och, aye."

Ymma studied his face. Above his wide, shining eyes were thick, dark eyebrows. He had the top part of his dark, wavy hair pulled back loosely, and several shorter patches had escaped and fallen across his forehead and in front of his ears. His nose was sharp and perfectly straight, his cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his grinning, wide mouth was framed by dimples and a short beard–evidence that he had not shaved in a week or so. "You're growing a beard," she pointed out.

Rust stroked his chin. "Jist a bit. Ah dornt want it too lang. Not good for shootin'."

She nodded. It looked good on him. Gods, everything looked good on him. He was just the sort of handsome man with whom she gladly would have carried on a flirtation if she did not know that he had been spoken for nearly two years ago and that he was fiercely loyal to, even if not deeply in love with, his betrothed.

Ymma frowned as a new thought occurred to her. "I thought _you_ were Finna's favourite spy."

Rust rolled his eyes. "Ah've told ye. Ah'm nae a spy."

She crossed her arms. He looked tired and dirty, as if he had been traveling for several days and sleeping in the woods. "Where have you been?"

He slipped his arrow into the leather quiver lashed to his back and shouldered his bow. "Oan a tradin' mission."

"Really?" She cocked her head to the side and appraised him. Like most Rowdy Ruckuses, he dressed in deep green and brown and leather–camouflage in the trees. He wore an odd combination of leather gloves. On his right hand, his knocking hand, the glove stopped at his wrist and covered his first and middle fingers. On his left, his bow arm, the glove stopped just below his elbow and covered his hand up to his knuckles. He had his bow and quiver and had tied a leather water pouch to his belt. A wool sack hung at his side, but it was empty. "What did you trade for? Air?"

Rust glanced down at his empty bag and cursed.

"You're not a good liar."

"Ah was east, with Maggie...Maggie?" He looked around. "Maggie?"

"Aye?" a female voice called from within the trees. A girl stepped out from behind a huge oak. She held the rabbit that had just run across the path by the scruff of its neck. The small animal had a small cord wrapped around its foot, and the rabbit struggled to free itself until the girl grabbed its head and twisted. The neck cracked. "Hello, Ymma," the girl said with a smile as she tied the dead rabbit to her belt.

"Magwart," Ymma returned. "They could hang you for poaching, you know."

Magwart shrugged. "They can try." She had all of her brother's sharp features, but she had a leather strap surrounding her dark hair and pulled down low to cover her left eye. The end of a deep, diagonal scar peeked out over her temple, and the rest of the cicatrice continued across her nose and ended in the middle of her right cheek. Ymma had never asked how Magwart had obtained the wound or whether or not she still had her left eye. She had always been too afraid of the answer.

"Ymma doesnae believe tha' we were oan a tradin' mission."

Magwart raised her eyebrows. "Ye cooldnae think ay somethin' better?"

Rust pressed his lips together in a poor attempt to look angry. "Ah take offense."

"Finna will nae like tha' ye let out the secret," Magwart warned playfully.

Rust gestured to Ymma. "She can't be angry tha' Ah let _Ymma_ figure it out!"

Magwart shrugged and Rust forced a comical groan, a reacting perfectly in line with his tendency to over-dramatize every situation.

Ymma smiled. Rowdy Ruckuses were known for several things. They had darker features than most Vikings–almost all of them had brown hair and eyes and tanned complexions. Their funny accents, heavily influenced by the presence of Gaelic in Scotland, were markedly different from the Vikings of the North and East, the ones from Norway and Shetland, from whom Ymma had learned their language during the years she had wandered around Albion before finding the Vikings in the Hebrides. They also had remarkable senses of humour. The Rowdy Ruckuses were smaller and leaner than most other tribes, but this allowed for swiftness and stealth, and lack of size in no way meant a lack of power; for if there was one thing for which the Rowdy Ruckuses were known, it was their deadliness in a battle, their staggering intellect, their ability to sneak up behind an enemy and bring him down in seconds, before he had even realized he was being attacked. They were loyal and benevolent companions to those who had the good fortune to be their friends, and they were vicious threats to those who had the great misfortune to not be.

"I wouldn't worry," Ymma assured him. "She likes you. She'll kill you quickly."

"Tha' is a comfort." He rubbed his neck as if already anticipating the throttling he would receive, not that Finna would ever actually throw a fit. Finna kept the identities of her network spies secret not for control but for their own protection. When she found out, she would probably shrug and start assigning the three of them missions together. Ymma had her suspicions about others in the network; she would be willing to bet on three or four more, but beyond the smaller inner circle, she had no idea how wide Finna had spun her web of information.

Ymma bit her lip. She had yet to inform Finna of the decision she had made a few days before. She would be leaving soon. Finna would not be happy about that. She would not be angry, but she would definitely be displeased. Saddened, even, if Ymma could trust Finna whenever she insisted that they were in fact friends, that she enjoyed not only Ymma's abilities with plants and eavesdropping but also her company. Of course, Ymma had learned over the years that Finna rarely revealed everything to any one person; she told a person what she wanted him to know, nothing more and nothing less. Still, Ymma preferred to believe that it was true, that the other woman was her friend.

Leaving would prove exceptionally difficult.

Magwart reached up to her face and adjusted the leather strip over her eye. "Where are ye headed? Ye coolds come tae th' village with us. Stay with us tonight. Eat somethin'." She gestured to her belt. "Roast rabbit."

"It's a tempting offer," Ymma said honestly. "I was going to go into town and see if I could pick up anything useful."

"Och, tha' sounds fun..." Rust tapped his chin. "Ah might join ye."

Magwart nodded. "Ah'll head home."

"Why not come along?" Ymma asked.

Magwart fingered the ears of the rabbit. "They coolds nae catch me for poachin', but why tempt fate?" She walked up and threw her arms around Ymma. "Come eat wi' us tonight. Stay th' night."

Ymma nodded and returned her friend's embrace. "I will."

Magwart pulled back and pointed at her brother. "Watch out fur 'er."

Rust grinned. "Always."

Magwart took a step back and seemingly melted into the trees.

After a moment, Rust grinned broadly. "Maggie saw yer tracks an' said we'd meet a friend. Ah ne'er thought it woolds be ye."

Ymma nodded. Magwart could look at a single footprint and tell almost anything about the one who had made it. Male or female. Short or tall. Thin or large. Free or heavy-laden. Occasionally, she could even tell who the person was. It was that fact that had long ago led Ymma to the conclusion that the siblings worked for Finna in the same way she did. "She's good," Ymma supplied.

"She's a mite creepy."

Ymma raised an eyebrow. "She's your sister."

"That's how Ah ken." Rust jerked his head toward the village. "Shall we?"

As they walked, Ymma let her mind wander. From her mandrake supply to the nearby abandoned monastery where the soldiers were staying to the far away island of Berk. "When do you think she'll be back?" she asked after a long period of silence.

"Finna?" Rust scratched at his chin. "Ah dornt ken. Mebbe tomorrow or th' day after."

Ymma nodded. The small, foot-beaten path met with the main road that led to the center of the village. The road itself was little more than a wider dirt path trampled out by carts and people.

A small red squirrel dashed across the road, and three small dragons, no larger than cats and of all different colours, chased after it. The Vikings called them Terrible Terrors. Ymma thought they were adorable.

As the first building, thatched roof and wooden walls covered with plaster to trap heat in winter and cold in summer, came into sight, Ymma asked, "Do Terrible Terrors live up north as well?"

"Ah think so..."

Another house approached, built in the same style as the first. The village was a large one, holding nearly one hundred people. There was no lord, only an elected magistrate, so the population was that of free peasants, farmers who lived further out and artisans and traders. For centuries the village had traded with the monastery, but when the monks had left, different trade routes and the Vikings had brought enough prosperity to sustain the population. More recently, the town funds had started the construction of a stone church in the town square, a grassy knoll where farmers and craftsmen set up their wares on market days and where women drew water and gossiped and where judgement for crimes was carried out and where people would head to the large tavern after a full day of work.

Ymma wondered if the Northern Viking villages were set up in the same way, or if they grew in a more haphazard fashion, with meeting places outside the main town and the chief living on the edge of the settlement, like the Rowdy Ruckus' village. "What's the North like?"

"Ah dornt ken. Ah've ne'er bin."

"But you know people, don't you?"

"Och aye, Ah ken folk. If rumours are true, Ah ken th' man they call th' dragon tamer."

Ymma smiled. "I've heard the northern dragons are huge. He must be terrifying if he tames those."

Rust let out a bark of laughter and pressed his hand against a wall as he doubled over. "Hiccup?" he gasped. "Naw...He...He's nae. He's jist...a bloke." He struggled to stop laughing and catch his breath. "He was a good kid. Smart, nice, funny, screw up..." He wiped at his eyes and started walking again. "He woolds hae bin a good Ruckus."

Ymma let her eyes fall on the new church. It was almost complete, save for the bell tower. Someone swung from the nearby gallows, but she could not tell who. A poacher, no doubt, caught hunting in the king's wood. For while the village was free of a lord, all the surrounding land belonged to the king of Scotland, except that he gave to the people for hunting and fishing.

"Yoo'd make a good Ruckus," Rust continued. He knocked her with his shoulder. "Rasch likes ye, ye ken."

Ymma shook her head. "No. I mean, Rasch is nice, but..." She trailed off as she realized they'd have to pass the gallows to get to the tavern, where plenty of people would be eating lunch or taking a midday break and where they could listen to many a conversation. She was not keen on passing by a place so covered in death, particularly when a dead man was there. It could lead to bad luck.

"But?" Rust prompted.

"I'm Anglo-Saxon." She did not belong with the Vikings. Not really. They felt like family, but she had plans to find her own people.

Rust laughed. "Ah dornt think he sees tha' as a problem."

"I mean...I just..."

He out a hand on her shoulder. "Nae ready. Ah get it. It's yer choice, ye ken."

They passed directly by the gallows, and against her better judgement, Ymma looked up to see the criminal's face.

"Nae parents tae speak..."

She stopped and stood completely still. She could not breathe.

Not a poacher. Not a poacher at all.

How did she not notice before?

"Och, Ymma. Ah didn't mean tha'..."

Long brown hair and dead, blue eyes. Simple, brown dress.

"Ymma, Ah'm really sorry. Ah didn't mean it tha' way. Jist...ye ken, ye hae th' freedom." Rust put both hands on her shoulders and shook his head. "Ah didn't mean tae brin' it up."

Ymma shook her head. The poor girl had not even known her own name.

"Ymma?" Rust shook her gently. "Ymma, whit's wrang?" He looked behind him and took a sharp breath. "Och, gods...a friend ay yoors?"

She shook her head again and tore her eyes away. "No. I mean..." Had she been? "No. I knew her. She was...an informant."

"What was 'er name?"

She stared at the ground. "She didn't know. She didn't...Oswyth. She liked that." A terrible thought started to creep into her mind, begging to take form. "She was a whore..." The end was near. She did not have much time. "They'll be after me next," she murmured as her heart started to race, "because I worship the old gods, and they won't let me be and–"

"Shh..." Rust pulled her tight to his chest, but she could still see the figure hanging over his shoulder like a bad omen. "Ymma, we'll take care ay ye. We won't lit tha' happen. Yoo'll be safe wi' us."

Something was wrong. She was wearing a brown dress. "I need the cloak."

Rust pressed a hand to the back of her head, like a brother comforting a little sister. "'Er cloak?"

"She wore a red cloak," Ymma explained. "I...I need it. Someone has to..." She took a shaky breath. "Someone has to mourn her."

"Alright. Alright." He stroked her hair softly. "We'll fin' it."

Ymma closed her eyes tight. "She...she was the only person I knew who could get inside..." She trailed off, not bothering to clarify what exactly that meant. "We won't be able to..."

Rust seemed to understand, though, for he started leading her away while murmuring, "Finna will fin' a way. She always does."

Of course she would. Finna would have back up plans. She would know what to do.

But for Ymma, time was running out. Soon, she'd be the one hanging by the church. And she knew she had to leave before the people had the chance to make that possibility a reality.

* * *

Snotlout pressed down on the sheep's side. The animal's fur had been recently shorn, and only an uneven covering of fuzz covered the pink, naked skin. The sheep bleated, a long and mournful cry, and tried to writhe away, but Snotlout held him fast to the ground.

Ruffnut tugged on the sheep's leg and pulled it tight before bringing down her wooden stick on it's shin.

Snotlout winced, and again the sheep wailed.

The girl did not even flinch, but grabbed the sheep's second leg.

"This is...not pleasant," Snotlout commented.

Ruffnut shrugged. "He's a wanderer. It has to be done."

"But breaking his legs...Like, I get it, he won't move, but..."

"I'll bind to my shoulders, and sing to him," Ruffnut explained. "By the time his legs heal, he'll be so used to my voice and presence, he'll never wander again. He'll not want to leave me."

"So...he'll be in your bed," Snotlout translated.

Ruffnut looked up at him. "In my room for a while, yeah. Until I can get him to sleep with the flock. Make sure no bugs are around, feed him, make him calm..."

"Get him all snuggly with the other sheep," he continued.

She scowled. "Sheep don't like to touch other sheep, stupid." She slammed the stick down a second time.

When Ruffnut grabbed the next leg, Snotlout looked up at the sky. He saw a black shape spinning and diving and falling in a very uncontrolled fashion. Another shape, multicoloured and bright, followed closely with far more grace and ease. He scoweled. "Showoff."

"Hiccup?" Ruffnut asked casually as she broke the third leg.

"Of course." Snotlout snorted. "He just loves flying all crazy, letting that dragon get out of control. Thinks he's all that."

Ruffnut grabbed the fourth leg and quickly broke it. "You're just jealous because he has something you don't."

Snotlout shook his head. "Hiccup has plenty of things I don't. I'll admit that." He looked down at Ruffnut as she started to bind the sheep's legs in wooden splints. "An annoying voice, too many freckles..."

"Hero status, the girl you always wanted," Ruffnut continued. "A sense of humour, a _brain_."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You looking for a fight, Thorston?"

She grinned and tightened the first splint.

Snotlout looked back up as the two dragons swooped lower. He sat up straighter. "He's not alone."

"Of course he's not," Ruffnut agreed. "Astrid's with him, right?"

"No, I mean he's not alone on _Toothless_."

She tightened the second and third splint. "She's riding with him?"

"Astrid's on Stormfly."

Ruffnut stopped tightening the fourth splint and looked up as well. "What?"

"There's someone else with him...and I'll bet I know who it is." He smiled. "Finna Haugen."

"Who?"

"Finna Haugen. She's an old friend. One of the Rowdy Ruckuses."

Ruffnut raised an eyebrow. "You have a friend?"

"Well, technically, she's Hiccup's friend, but..." He trailed off and frowned. "Hey..."

"You can let go now," Ruffnut told him.

He took his hands off the sheep's side and Ruffnut began to bind the creature's front legs together. "You don't think he's decided to leave Astrid for Finna, do you?" he asked. It was a joke, of course. He still made moves on Astrid. He made it a daily goal. But, naturally, it was only for the purpose of annoying her and Hiccup.

Ruffnut snorted. "I don't know this girl, but I can tell you it's very unlikely."

"She's attractive," he said. "I saw her yesterday. Witty, sarcastic...Just like him."

"Doesn't matter."

Snotlout frowned. "How do you know?"

Ruffnut sighed and tied the sheep's hind legs together. "Because," she began before she paused, seeming to think better of her response. "I just know."

He smirked. "Being around Fishy has made you the expert on love?"

She glared at him. "Shove it, Butt Troll." She picked the sheep up and rested the animal across her shoulders and brought the ends of the leg bindings under her arms and around her torso several times before tying the straps in front of her chest. "I suppose you think you're the expert? What with all the girls falling for you?" She looked funny, defensive and proud while she had a naked sheep wrapped around her shoulders like a large collar or yoke.

But Snotlout could not laugh. As much as he loved making comments at Hiccup and Astrid for merely to fun of it, a small part of him still hoped. And Ruffnut's comment had hit home.

The sad truth of her remark was that he most certainly did _not_ have girls falling at his feet everywhere he went. In fact, girls really tended to look far more often at his cousin, which was ridiculous, since his cousin was scrawny and weird, even if he were a hero and admittedly kind of awesome in a strange sort of tradition-breaking way. Girls talked about Hiccup, about someday marrying a guy like Hiccup, sometimes Hiccup himself, even though he already had made known his feelings for one girl in particular. And that was the worse truth: the girl that Hiccup fancied returned the feelings, and she was the only girl Snotlout had ever really wanted.

True, she had never really looked his way. She had never looked _ anyone's_ way until she had woken up one day and just decided that she liked Hiccup. It made sense, Snolout allowed. He would openly that as much as he ragged on and made fun of his cousin, he thought the guy was pretty cool. He actually liked hanging out with him. Sometimes. Like the times when he was not _thinking_. In fact, he really only made comments about Hiccup because he was family, and that was what family was supposed to do.

And, yes, Ruffnut was right. He was jealous. Who would not be?

Not that he would ever admit to such a thing.

And, really, he had been over Astrid for a long time. She had made her choice, and that was fine. Maybe not at first. The first time he had seen her kiss him, just after he had woken up, Snotlout had felt like the weight of the seven worlds had been dropped on his chest. But he had quickly forced himself to move on, because he had never been one to stay down for long.

And over the years, the firm rejection had been easier to process. Sure, he still got annoyed, jealous, even, whenever the two lovebirds started getting unnecessarily affectionate. But that was only because a small part of him still wished and hoped that the first and only girl he had ever really liked would eventually get tired of his cousin.

But only a very small part, of course.

When he did not reply, Ruffnut smirked. "Well, then." She hefted the sheep and walked away, singing a honey-sweet lullaby that her voice mutilated to resemble the sound of a dying bird.

Snotlout turned to face her back. "Oh, sure! Whatever!" He then said in a high-pitched and nasal voice, "Oh, thank you Snotlout for helping me torture my sheep! You're my hero!" He then said in a voice an octave lower than usual, "Well, you're welc–" He was cut off when something struck him in the side of the head.

"Shut up!" Ruffnut shouted.

As she stalked away, he rubbed his temple and looked down at a large piece of wood that had fallen near his feet. He groaned and looked back up as two dragons once again circled overhead.

The larger part of him, the part unconcerned with a particular girl and more concerned with girls in general, wondered if he would ever fall for someone again. If he would ever have what Hiccup and Astrid had.

Then, a brilliant thought came to his mind, and he held onto it. Because he was not Hiccup, and brilliance did not come naturally to him.

Just because Finna had always gone out of her way to put him trough pain after his usually foiled attempts to bully his cousin, just because she had blatantly rejected him within seconds the day before...None of that meant that he did not have a chance.

He smiled and brought his fingers to his lips and whistled long and loud.

A few seconds passed before Hookfang descended from the sky and nudged Snotlout with his head.

"You ready, boy? What do you say we go catch Astrid and Stormfly?"

Hookfang growled in approval and dipped his head so Snotlout could climb on his neck. When the boy was on, the dragon pushed off from the ground and started toward the two others who were darting about the sky.

Within seconds, Hookfang had come alongside Stormfly.

"So..." Snotlout began.

Astrid glanced at him but appeared unfazed. "So?"

"Enjoying yourself?"

She rolled her eyes and nodded toward her dragon. "_She_ is."

Well. Someone was not happy. And if he could guess by where her gaze was focused, the source of her misery lay with the woman whose arms were currently wrapped around Hiccup as they flew wildly through the sky. "How's the view?"

Astrid scowled. "Shut up."

He snickered and continued to watch Toothless. It suddenly dawned on him that Toothless' seemingly unmanageable behaviour was just that: unmanageable.

Hiccup could not control his own dragon. Toothless was not giving him the time of day, but seemed Hel-bent on knocking both riders to the ground.

It was almost funny, but he could not figure out why the Night Fury would be acting so strange.

"Toothless doesn't like her," Astrid said triumphantly, as if reading his thoughts.

"How do you know?" Snotlout asked. Maybe Hiccup had stupidly tried to feed Toothless eel that morning? Maybe Toothless just felt crazy.

"I received the same treatment when we first met."

Snotlout looked over at her. He had forgotten that Astrid's first flight had been on Toothless. He did not know the whole story, but he was aware that there had been some amount of very understandable animosity and that Hiccup had been forced to throw himself between the girl and dragon to keep them from killing each other.

Astrid smirked. "He's trying harder to throw her off, though. She's enjoying it too much, and he wants her to be miserable." She leaned back and smiled widely. "He attacked her."

Snotlout thought it was a strange thing to be happy over, a person being attacked by an angry Night Fury. He would not wish that fate on anyone. But Astrid was Astrid.

"Hiccup had to spend half an hour calming him down before he'd even let her on."

"Toothless warmed up to you," he pointed out. "And it didn't take long."

Her smile fell and she glared at him. "Do you want me to punch you? Because I will."

"I'm good." He looked ahead at Finna and Hiccup. "You know, you could always forget him. Let Finna take him."

Astrid blinked. "You know her too?"

He grinned. "From years past. We became reacquainted yesterday morning."

Astrid nodded. "That makes sense."

"As I was saying, if you just let her have him, then you and I–"

"Don't push it."

Snotlout was about to retort when he heard a scream. Not a Night Fury scream, but one that was decidedly human. He looked forward and almost could not believe what he saw: Toothless was plummeting toward the ground, his fake fin collapsed.

Well, that was not supposed to happen. Snotlout watched with morbid fascination as the dragon fell.

"Hiccup!" Astrid shouted as she spurred Stormfly toward the imminent crash.

Suddenly, the fin snapped back out and Toothless glided to a safe stop on the ground. Astrid landed not far behind.

Oh. That had been intentional.

Feeling only a bit disappointed that he had not seen more action, Snotlout urged Hookfang down as well. His dragon came to rest next to Stormfly and lowered his neck so Snotlout could slide off. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Hiccup had already dismounted and run to face Toothless.

"Toothless! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Astrid was near enough for him to hear as she murmured, "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Finna slid off Toothless' back and held her head. "Ah'm goin' tae sit..." She walked slowly toward a nearby rock and lowered herself slowly.

Astrid took the opportunity to approach Hiccup as he continued to berate his very unimpressed dragon.

Snotlout took the opportunity to continue where he had left off that morning. He strolled over to Finna and smiled. "So...Finna..."

She looked up at him. "Och, nae again." She rolled her eyes and rested her head in her hand.

He sat down next to her and she scooted away. "Where were we earlier? I think–"

"Ye ken," she began in a very light tone, "Ah had a perfectly wonderful conversation this mornin'." She then glared at him. "Ours wasnae it."

Still as biting and sarcastic as he remembered. "Ok..." He looked around for something to say. "You know, crazy how Hiccup couldn't control his own dragon, right?" He looked at her, but she had begun to fiddle with the leather strands that kept the lambskin tied around her boots. "I mean," he said louder, "I can control mine better than that."

"Hm," she replied.

He was not one to be thrown off by noncommittal answers. Astrid had given him plenty of practice over the years. "I'm one of the first and best trainers on this island, you know. No one can train a Monstrous Nightmare like I can."

"Nae one can gab abit himself like ye can, either."

He frowned. A response was good, but he had been hoping for something less...irritated. "You never liked me much."

"Hm."

Perhaps her dislike of him had something to do with Hiccup? She had always been his friend, after all, and Snotlout had bullied the boy a little when they were younger.

Fine. He had bullied him a lot.

"You always tried to look out for him," he said.

"Hm."

"But we're older now, you know." He looked at her as she sat up. "Hiccup and I are friends," he added pointedly.

"Really?" Her tone was disbelieving.

He grinned. "_We_ could be better friends."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Ah wish we waur better strangers."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You think I'm a narcissist or something?" he asked, using a word he had heard Astrid call him once. He did not know exactly what it meant, but it was something bad.

"Nae. A narcissist is typically better lookin' than ye are." Finna glanced at Astrid and Hiccup before rising and stretching her arms toward the sky. "Ah shoolds go. Places tae be."

Snotlout watched her walk away before rising and squaring his shoulders.

He had chased Astrid for four years. He was not one to give up after one day.

* * *

Tuffnut rested his chin on the top of the long table and ran his finger along the inside of a hole in the wood while Fishlegs prattled on and scribbled something in the revised Dragon Manual. It had been an ongoing project for years–a new book that essentially held every bit of information from the last book without all the "kill on sight" warnings.

He had always wondered, often aloud, why they had bothered with a new book when they easily could have scratched out the death alerts in the old one.

"For presentation," his sister would reply before muttering that it was a subject about which he knew absolutely nothing.

He also often wondered why they even bothered with a manual at all. It had made sense when they had been killing dragons, when destroying the beasts had been a greater part of life than the dragons themselves. Sure. He got that. Know your enemy and all that rot. But with the dragons living in homes and existing almost as family members...the idea of a manual was ridiculous. Since the dragons were so integral to daily life, the book was a bit superfluous.

In a few years, people would know all about the dragons simply because they lived with them. All their hard work would be useless.

And Ruffnut would just roll her eyes because they had the conversation every week.

"Tradition," Fishlegs would say simply, as if that solved everything.

Ruffnut would nod enthusiastically. Lately, she agreed with everything Fishlegs said. It was weird.

Like, it was fine whenever Astrid agreed with Hiccup. They butted heads occasionally, so it was not obnoxious whenever they took the same side; it was just expected.

But when Ruffnut agreed with Fishlegs, it was different. Weird different.

On one level...there was _that_.

Tuffnut saw it, and he had to question why everyone else seemed completely blind. And it was just so strange. Like, Fishlegs? _Really_? He did not get it.

So there was that thing. And that was slightly annoying.

But the whole "Fishlegs knows best" thing annoyed him on a different level too.

It had been cool when Astrid and Ruffnut had suddenly become thick after barely tolerating each other years ago–Astrid's being the showoff she had been when they were younger before she had mellowed thanks to Hiccup and Ruffnut's being only too pleased to push people's buttons. Astrid would say something egomaniacal and completely _Astrid_ and Ruffnut would bite back with sarcasm or Ruffnut would intentionally push one of Astrid's buttons just to get to her and the glaring and eye-rolling competitions would begin. He thought that at one point they had even had a fight over Hiccup. Maybe. For, like, ten seconds. But the girls had worked it all out in the end, and they had formed a solid friendship over the years. That had been fine. Peace, finally. And his sister had a good female friend, and he could see how that would be good for her. He had the guys, she had a girl. Great.

But Ruffnut and _Fishlegs_...That had been Tuffnut's place once. They had always agreed on things. Sort of. They had been a single entity. The Twins. Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Partners in crime. Constantly quarreling with each other. Constantly finding trouble together. They had been inseparable. Best friends and siblings. Tuffnut would die before he ever publicly admitted it, but he felt replaced.

Not that it was anyone's fault.

Change was part of life and growing up.

Which made him wonder why tradition was so important.

"Look, I agree with you," Astrid would say in that way of hers that clearly conveyed that she did _not_ at all agree and simply needed to stall for time so she could think of an argument. Because sometimes even the great Astrid Hofferson did not have an argument. Sometimes she just did not know, though she would pretend for all that she was worth that she did. "I agree," she would say again, "but...um..."

"What if something were to happen to us–this is purely hypothetical, of course–and we were to forget everything we know about the dragons?" Hiccup would supply. "Or if we started fighting again and needed to remember? Or some cataclysmic event made us forget our way of life and our descendants were left with nothing of our histories?"

Astrid would nod firmly as if she had put the idea directly into Hiccup's head.

Tuffnut would snort and ask who would want to learn about being a Viking anyway. As far as he was concerned, Viking life was as boring as straw.

Hiccup would just look at him incredulously, as if to ask who would _not_ want to know.

Tuffnut would then point out that if it were a matter of preserving culture and tradition, they should keep chicken and sheep manuals.

Hiccup would laugh as if it were the best joke he had heard in years. "But everyone in Midgard has sheep and chickens," he'd say. "Plus, caring for sheep and chickens...that's common sense" Then he'd bend over whatever crazy project he was working on at the moment. "Dragons are more complicated."

"Exactly," Astrid would say, as if the matter were closed.

And Tuffnut would concede that the matter was indeed closed. He would not dare to argue with her. He was not suicidal. He was not _Hiccup_, who would always have his respect for sometimes taking a chance and taking a stand against her. Maybe Hiccup did not realize how courageous he was being–he was weird like that–but Tuffnut would never count himself nearly that brave. And whenever Hiccup did it–argued with her–there were delightful results. She would looked utterly shocked and vexed over the fact that someone had dared challenge her, and that expression on her face was positively priceless.

Once upon a time, Tuffnut had gathered the courage and made that expression appear by remarking that Hiccup's hypotheticals and what-if's were hardly convincing. What would happen to the Vikings? They had been around for three hundred years, and the only thing that could ever destroy them would be Ragnarok, and then a book would be worthless.

Her eyes had grown wide, her mouth had gone slack, and her brow had furrowed. Then she had hardened her face into a stony expression that very clearly informed him that he would never again question her or Hiccup–no room for arguments.

If he ever discussed it with Snotlout, he would just say that Hiccup was just weird, which was honestly the best answer Tuffnut ever got out of anyone.

Hiccup was weird. And occasionally surprisingly stupid for someone so smart. Because while Tuffnut could not quite grasp why keeping a revised Dragon Manual was important, he definitely could not begin to comprehend why Hiccup assumed he was one of the men best suited for the job.

Fishlegs keeping the journal? Sure. That made perfect sense. The guy was a walking Dragon Manual.

And he could see why Hiccup did not trust Snotlout with the job. Tuffnut himself trusted Snotlout with serious stuff only about as far as he could throw him. And Snotlout was huge, so Tuffnut could not throw him very far. Maybe not at all. He had never really tried.

But that did not mean that Tuffnut was a good choice.

He had worked for years to perfect his reputation. Dumb Tuffnut. The stupid twin. If no one thought he had a mind, no one would set him on intellectual tasks. He had a smaller chance of screwing something up and embarrassing himself.

Because when it came to words and numbers, he would inevitably screw up. He hated reading. The letters got all switched around or flipped in his head. No one else seemed to have the problem, so he had always just been written off as dim.

And he liked it that way.

No responsibility. No risk of disappointing people.

He cast a sideways glance at the Dragon Manual where Fishlegs had just written something down. Tuffnut would have assumed the word his friend had just scratched in charcoal was "dargon" if he had not known the context.

A perfect reputation.

Until Hiccup had come along. He had an annoying habit of seeing potential in people.

Of course, Hiccup was the only one. No one else had really changed their opinions about the male twin. For all Hiccup's claims he had not done it alone and that he most certainly could not have killed the Red Death without Tuffnut's or Astrid's or anyone's help, he was the big hero. And Tuffnut had been lucky enough to have been sucked into the plan.

Not that Tuffnut minded. He had solidified his reputation for a reason. It was impenetrable.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

A small part of him did wonder what it was like to be a hero, to be respected and sought after for opinions.

Not that Tuffnut would ever trust himself to give out his opinions. He honestly did not want any sort of intellectual acclaim. He knew he would eventually make a fool of himself. Smart things and sayings did not make sense to him. Reading and numbers did not come easy. And the intellect was Hiccup's thing.

But what would it be like to actually be taken seriously for once? As a warrior? For bravery or strength? He did not really have those things, not on a high level at least. But what would it be like if someone actually trusted him for _him_? Not for some hidden potential or what he might be or what he definitely was not?

Tuffnut yawned and stood up. All of that would take effort. And he was not willing to put in effort for anything. Even notoriety as Berk's most deadly weapon was not worth the work.

Fishlegs started. "Where are...We haven't finished."

Tuffnut strolled toward the front door of the Ingerman home and waved over his shoulder. "You've got it covered."

"But...I don't know what the Zippleback's least favourite food is!"

Tuffnut stopped in his tracks and turned around.

Fishlegs looked down at the book and back up with wide eyes. "I just...I don't know, and I think it would be helpful..."

Really? Tuffnut knew he was not exactly a genius, but even he knew the answer to that one without even thinking. Hiccup had shown them on the fourth day of training. They had not known it then, but still. "Eel. I'm going to go take a nap."

Fishlegs smiled sheepishly. "Oh." He chuckled. "Right. Um...I guess that was obvious. Alright..."

Tuffnut rolled his eyes and turned back around. He pushed open the door and walked into the afternoon sunshine.

He looked around and immediately noticed Hiccup and Astrid walking down the hill with Toothless and Stormfly trailing after. Astrid was looking positively miffed, and he could easily understand why. Hiccup was chatting and laughing, but not with her. There was another girl with them. Lean and brunette and pretty from a distance. He had never seen her before, which meant she was one of the visitors for the Thing.

He grinned.

Perhaps a nap was not in order just yet. Not while there were lovely strangers around.

* * *

The chieftains were all about the town, most headed up to the Great Hall for a meal, some embracing old friends or challenging people to arm-wrestling. By sunrise, all would be gone. It was a long way to travel for two days for some, but they were Vikings. And not just any Vikings. They were island Vikings, the greatest seamen since time began. Their home was on the water.

For her part, she needed to get back.

Or away.

After years and a childhood of protecting him, he had grown up. And he did not need her anymore.

She needed to get away from that.

From that and his life and Astrid Hofferson.

She had expected that Astrid Hofferson would be possessive. That strong of a woman would be a fool to let go of a man like him, and she would be a fool to let anyone else get close.

She had not expected that Astrid Hofferson would love him.

No, she had not expected that at all.

But he was happy, and he was happy with _her_. And no matter how deeply it hurt, Finna knew it was best to leave well enough alone.

Finna glanced over her shoulder, just to be sure no one else was following her. Snotlout had been bad enough, but just after losing him, some other boy had started tailing her.

There was something wrong with the Hairy Hooligan boys.

Seeing no one, she picked up her pace and made her way down the walk to the docks.

She needed to get her mind off of the day. None of that was important. There was a war, a war that needed understanding and cunning to win, and after a day or two of travel, she would be thrown back into the tension.

She needed to talk to someone, someone she could trust. Her first instinct would be to go to Rust, who had worked for her the longest, but he was not available. She would talk to him when she arrived home, of course. He and Magwart would surely be back from the coast and the new Norman settlements with further information. Her second instinct would be to talk to Ymma, sharp and quiet, and far more prone to listen than offer advice. But Ymma was home as well.

She reached the ship on which she and her father had arrived and jumped onto the deck. A tent was stretched from the mast to the stern, and a dark-haired figure lay sprawled in front.

She walked over to the man and kicked his arm. "Kali."

The man flailed his arms as he jerked up. "Thor Almighty!" He rubbed at his impish face in an attempt to wipe off sleep and exhaustion.

Finna grinned. "Just me, though I've been told the resemblance is uncanny." She jerked her head toward the tent. "Everyone inside?"

"The whole crew." Kali opened up the tent flap. "Guess who's here?"

"Finna!" a girl cried out jovially. She had the same face Kali did, upturned eyebrows and upturned nose and small, devilish grin. The girl scooted over and patted the ground between herself an another man.

Finna took a seat and nodded to the quiet man to her side. The man kept his hair long and his beard short, and he was decent looking in good light. "Haven't ventured outside?"

"Too cold," the girl answered.

Kali took a seat. "What do we have to eat, Kola?"

"Raw carrots and stale bread," the girl offered. "Goat cheese and onions."

"I'll take the bread and the cheese." He looked at Finna as Kola pulled food out of a crate. "It's freezing out there."

"You're weak. The lot of you," Finna said.

Kali took the food and shrugged.

"Food?" Kola offered.

"I'll head up to the Hall later." Finna looked at the other man, the one who had not spoken. "Eaten, Rasch?"

The man nodded and looked down at the small block of wood he was intent on carving with a smaller knife. Finna could not tell what it was, but she thought it could be a stag when he was finished. "When do we leave?" she asked.

"At morning twilight," Kali offered before taking a bite of bread and swallowing it. "With the outgoing tide." He looked at his sister. "Ready to get home, Kola?"

"Barely been away, Kali." The girl looked to Rasch, the makings of a joke apparent in her features. "What about you, Rash? Ready to see Ymma again?"

Rasch kept his head down.

"Never known a widower to wait so long," Kali added. "You're getting old..."

"He's still twenty-seven," Finna said. Rasch would never defend himself against teasing. "He has plenty of time left."

"You've been with the Berkians all day," Kali said.

"I'm amazed you haven't picked up their funny accents," Kola said.

Kali cleared his throat, and, in a poor imitation of the sharp vowels and consonants and clipped speech the northern islanders used, said, "I t'eenk it weell rain."

Kola descended into a fit of giggles, and the two began holding a nonsensical conversation in their Berkian accents.

Finna envied them their carefree nature. A war was looming, and her father's health had not been good of late. In a few years time, she might see herself leading a tribe and an army.

But first, she needed to know exactly the size of the force she was up against.

Rasch nudged Finna and asked in that quiet, steady way of his, "What are you thinking of?"

Finna looked down at her hands. She could trust him. He had not worked for her long, but he was good and silent. "I know of someone who can get inside," she said. There was no need to specify what that meant. "We need numbers. Real numbers, not just rumours of numbers. Five-thousand...eight-thousand...six-thousand soldiers and fifteen-hundred calvalry..." She laughed quietly. "I don't know what to believe."

Rasch nodded and continued to carve. He would not say anything else for a long time. He was a man of very few words.

The English could fight over any king they wanted or did not want, as far as she was concerned. All she cared about was protecting her people. Perhaps...She knew some people who knew others in the Danish court. Maybe the Danes could come to their side. Maybe the Swedes.

A king who wanted the world like Williame did would not stop because of a treaty. No man every became king by treaty, and no king ever acquired land by way of peace. Not Rome, not the Franks. Once the Norman king had what he wanted, once he knew how to train his own dragons, once he commanded his army of dragons, what would prevent him from breaking the small treaty with their tribe? What would prevent him from conquering, Berk or Iceland or Greenland?

The Normans could crush the Vikings. With their better weapons and larger forces and solidarity in Normanz, they _would_ crush them, and even if they maintained peace long enough to get information about the dragons, once they had that weapon, it was only a matter of time before they _did_ crush them.

Unless she was wrong, and she was never wrong, war was coming. While Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods, did not seem close at hand, the twilight of the Norsemen certainly was.

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